Fundamental Things
by pseudononny
Summary: In which Sam, Mercedes, and, eventually, Finn do the sorts of things that people who love each other do.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own none of Glee, but I manage to find joy all the same.

Chapter 1: A Kiss Is Still A Kiss

_In which Rachel hosts another party, the gang plays another round of spin the bottle, and Mercedes, Sam, and Finn gain some new perspectives on kissing._

Finn would never admit it in public, but he loved to play Spin the Bottle. Even though his Valentine's Day stunt had ended with a case of mono, an ill-advised return to Quinn, and a rift in his already precarious relationship with Sam, he'd gotten to kiss a lot of girls and it had been fun. Finn liked kissing as an activity and considered himself something of an expert on the subject now that he'd had so much experience. Not that he was currently using it, since tonight Rachel was throwing another drunken house party, which meant that she and Kurt were on stage running through the entire score of _Pip Pip Hooray,_ and he was spending most of his time hanging out at the bar with Blaine while everyone else—except for Mercedes and Sam, who seemed really interested in the songs—was making out.

So he was somewhat relieved and more than eager when Brittany suggested that they play the game in her attempt to distract Santana from her increasing frustration with the floor show. Kissing was always a good idea, and if he was lucky, he'd have a legitimate excuse to kiss the one girl at the party that he hadn't kissed yet.

Faced with the alternative of a ranting Santana, everyone—save Rachel, who was in the middle of her favorite number, "My Kingdom for a Hat"—was willing to play a round of spin the bottle, even agreeing to play by Brittany's rule that you had to kiss whoever the bottle stopped on—with tongue, no exceptions.

Mercedes was nervous. She'd played before, but the bottle always seemed to skip her, and she and Sam were still on the down-low. What were the rules? Would Sam be upset with her if she kissed someone—and enjoyed it? And how would it feel to watch him kissing another girl, especially since no one in the room knew that either of them were spoken for?

Sam looked over at Mercedes and shot her a reassuring smile. "You OK?" he mouthed. He wasn't sure how they were going to get out of the game if she wasn't, and he didn't want to pressure her into going public with their relationship right at this minute. He felt relieved and a little bit sad, too, when she gave him a quick nod that she was OK with the game. He hoped that things wouldn't get too out of hand, and resolved to get them both out of it if she looked uncomfortable.

Brittany spun the bottle, which pointed to Puck, who then spun to a disinterested Santana, who subsequently got to kiss a somewhat-wary Tina (after verifying that Santana did not, at the moment, have mono. Or stereo).

"You taste like tobacco," Tina said, her nose wrinkled as she went to her purse to find some mints.

Santana rolled her eyes. "And my blood is now teeming with msg."

Tina glared at Santana as she returned to her spot. Mike leaned over to kiss her cheek and whisper something in her ear that made her giggle then gasp. Her face grew flushed as she reached for the bottle and gave it a spin. It landed on Sam, which seemed to please her.

Mercedes felt nervous. Sam shot her a quick glance as Tina made her way toward him, his eyes seeking what Mercedes could only assume was permission (or maybe forgiveness?). She pursed her lips and nodded, and found that she didn't mind as much as she thought she would when Tina gave Sam a sweet kiss. Both of their eyes were closed, and she realized that this was the first time she was really aware of what Sam looked like when he was receiving a kiss. If she was honest with herself, it was kinda hot.

It was Sam's turn now, and everyone laughed as he crossed his fingers while the bottle spun. No one knew exactly who he wanted to kiss, but there was speculation on who he might want to avoid, and so there was a moment of tense silence when the bottle stopped on Finn.

"Finneptitude?" Santana laughed. "Watch out, Berry; Samson may be a man, but his lips are more woman than you'll ever be."

Rachel inhaled sharply, her lips pinched together as she tried to find something suitable to say. Kurt grabbed her hand. "Don't listen to that bitter kitten," he coaxed. "You have a classically lovely mouth. Besides," he nodded to her boyfriend, who was seated on his other side. "Finn looks like he's about to faint."

Finn was frozen with panic. He didn't know what to do. This wasn't what he expected. All eyes darted between the two boys, who were seated across from each other.

"I don't see what the big deal is," said Blaine. "No one batted an eyelash when it was all about the girls."

Artie laughed. "Had to happen to somebody, bro."

Brittany punched the air. "Boy kisses for the win! Lord Tubbington is going to be sorry he missed this party!"

The room erupted in nervous and excited chatter and laughter which was followed by anger at both Brittany's rule and how unfair it was that the guys didn't seem willing to do what everyone assumed the girls' would be OK with. Three people, however, were silent.

Sam looked at Finn. Finn looked at Sam. Mercedes wasn't sure who to look at, but she was sure that this wasn't one of the scenarios she'd pictured when she was worried about who Sam might kiss. She was also curious to see what would happen.

Finn nervously slammed back the rest of his drink. _No guts, no glory, right? These are my friends. Besides, if I don't do this, it's like I'm not fair to women. Or something_.

Sam calmly considered his options. _I'm not drunk, so I can't blame it on the booze later. Puck is going to torment me for days about this._ He glanced at Mercedes. She was sipping her soda, a hint of a smile at her lips and in her eyes as she looked over at him. When she narrowed her eyes and mouthed "I dare you," Sam gave in, mouthed back "it's on," and started moving, choosing to ignore the fact that his jeans felt a bit tighter.

The room grew suddenly quiet as Sam made his way over to Finn, who looked surprised and a bit afraid. When he was kneeling in front of Finn, Sam whispered "This OK?"

Finn hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I'm cool."

Sam put his hand on the back of Finn's head and kissed him hard, his tongue quickly entering Finn's mouth after the initial contact. To Finn, everything was silence and a soft harshness, a contest that he wanted to win, and just as he started to part his lips to continue what was turning out to feel surprisingly good, Sam broke the kiss. The crowd went wild. A bit dazed, Sam went back to his seat and looked over at Mercedes, who was busy doing something on her phone. He was glad that she wasn't looking at him just right now. He'd made himself stop kissing Finn because he didn't want to stop. He needed a minute to think about what that meant.

"That was hot!" exclaimed Brittany, now seated in Artie's lap. Finn wondered if the person who landed on the two of them would have to kiss them both. Then he wondered if it was weird that he was wondering that. Then he stopped wondering as Santana nudged him, pointing to the bottle in the center of the circle. "Your turn, Finnocence."

When it stopped spinning, the bottle pointed at Mercedes who was preoccupied with the text message she was sending to Sam.

"Hot Mama!" yelled Puck eagerly as he punched Mercedes in the arm. She glared at him.

"You're just glad he didn't land on your insecure ass," she growled, rubbing her arm. She looked up at Finn, who was smiling as he came toward her like a puppy who was about to get a treat. "Don't look so excited. This changes nothing."

Everyone looked confused, expect for Sam, who tried not to look at anyone. He felt jealous and turned on at the same time, and he didn't know that he'd be able to keep either emotion in check once he actually saw Finn and Mercedes kissing.

"I disagree," said Finn. He was on all fours before her, his hands on either side of her hips, his nose inching closer to hers. "Perfect. Record."

Mercedes was flustered at his proximity, but rolled her eyes. "It doesn't count if I _have_ to kiss you, Finn, no matter what you might—" Her protest was muffled by Finn's mouth pressing on hers, and though she knew she'd regret it later, she didn't struggle when he gently swiped his tongue across her lips, choosing instead to let him finish what he'd started. He wasn't Sam, but he definitely knew what he was doing. When he finally released her, she looked at him, bit her bottom lip, and huffed. "Nope. Still doesn't count."

"Protest all you want, Mercedes," Finn said as he moved back to his spot in the circle. "The deed is done." Satisfied, Finn put his hands on the floor behind him and stretched out his long legs. Everyone still looked confused. "What?"

Tina was the first to catch on. "Liar! You said you'd kissed every girl at school."

A grinning Artie looked at Puck. "Pay up, man!"

Puck grumbled, pulled out his wallet, and passed Artie a rumpled twenty dollar bill.

"Guys, what the hell?" Now Finn was the confused one.

"Didn't think I'd have to wait until July to settle this bet," Artie said as he put away his wallet. "But I knew Mercedes wasn't going to play that game." He raised a fist in solidarity with Mercedes who was laughing at Finn's confusion.

Rachel was indignant. "You kissed me on the forehead _then_ but you laid the smack down on Mercedes _now_?"

"We weren't dating at the time and you were all—" Finn stopped himself when he saw Kurt frantically shaking his head. "Besides—I was just following the rules of the game when I kissed Mercedes. And why weren't you upset about me kissing Sam?"

Rachel primly smoothed her skirt. "As a woman, I have to support my sisters. We'd already had a few Sapphic smooches that were quite intimate. It only seemed fair that you and Sam enter into the game in the same spirit as your female counterparts."

Everyone was talking now—again—about the fairness of the game, the game itself (and the fact that it was Mercedes' turn) now forgotten in the familiar drama that was Finn and Rachel. Sam looked over at his girl and felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, his cock growing harder as he read the message Mercedes must have sent right after he'd kissed Finn. "I can't wait to get you alone." He made eye contact with her and winked, then looked down at the phone again, wondering for the umpteenth time this evening why they were keeping their relationship a secret. "Me too" he texted back.

"Dude, we're heading out." Sam jerked his head from the phone to see Mike crouched beside him. "Wanna come with us, or can you find another ride home?"

Sam could see that Mike really wanted to be alone with Tina, and although Sam was the designated driver of the trio this evening, he knew that Mike hadn't had anything to drink, so he decided to take advantage of this unexpected opportunity. "Mercedes," he said, surprised at how calm he sounded. "I hate to ask, but do you think you can give me a ride home?"

Mercedes looked like a deer caught in headlines. "Um. Sure. Yeah," she said, nodding a bit too eagerly. Thankfully, Mike and Tina were already halfway out the door.

Now that he had an excuse, Sam didn't waste any time. "Just let me know when you're ready." He motioned to the group, now splintering off to enjoy other passions or revisit old arguments. "I think this party's done."

"Ready whenever you are." Mercedes grabbed her purse, told everyone goodnight, and practically ran for the door.

Kurt and Blaine leaned against the bar and watched as Sam tried not to touch Mercedes' ass as he followed her up the stairs. His eyes on the staircase, Kurt held up an outstretched palm to Blaine, who grudgingly placed a Lima Bean card in his hand. "So transparent," Kurt sighed as he placed his prize in his pocket, then turned to kiss away Blaine's pout. If he'd looked a bit longer, he'd have noticed Mercedes and Sam each take a quick glance in Finn's direction. Blaine, however, did see Finn's gaze linger a bit too long in the direction of the staircase and filed away that data for a future bet.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own none of Glee, but I manage to find joy all the same.

A/N: Thanks for all the comments; I'm glad you're enjoying this story!

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><p>Chapter 2: The Simple Facts of Life are Such<p>

_In which Mercedes finds out the game is up, Sam realizes he has no game, and Finn starts to think he's playing the wrong one_.

The first thing Mercedes did the morning after Rachel's party was to call Kurt.

Actually, that's not entirely accurate.

The first thing Mercedes did the morning after Rachel's party—outside of her usual morning routine—was to read a text message that Sam had sent before he headed to his summer day job at the Lima Rec Center. The message said _your kiss w/Finn was hotter_, followed by a second message that read _can't wait to see you tomorrow &hearts, _ the end of which Mercedes thought was strange, but endearing. Then, since she had her phone in her hand, and she needed to talk to someone about the public events of the evening—even if he didn't know what had gone on in private, afterwards, when she and Sam were parked by the lake in her Jeep—she called Kurt, who cut her off before she could even get out the "h" in her "hi!"

"I know."

Her face felt hot and her throat felt tight. "What?" she finally managed to squeak out.

"I know about you and Sam, Mercedes, so don't try to hide it from me anymore. Lucky for you, I woke an extra half hour early this morning and have already completed my skin care regimen, so I'm free for breakfast before you go to work if you want to talk."

Mercedes couldn't tell if Kurt was angry or amused—or some mixture of both—but she did know that he was not going to let this go gently. She ran over the events of the evening again in her head. Maybe he'd seen all of the looks she and Sam thought they were so cleverly hiding?

"Well?"

It really didn't matter how he'd figured it out; he knew, and that was that. "OK." Mercedes looked at the clock. 8:15. She was supposed to help open the boutique at 10. "Lima Bean? 30 minutes?"

"See you then. And I expect details." He hung up the phone, and Mercedes sat down on the bed and tried to figure out what had just happened.

It had been her idea to keep things quiet, although Sam hadn't objected. The glee club was full of gossip—Mercedes herself being a connoisseur of the finer bits—and they both just wanted to see where things would go before going public. It seemed innocent enough at the time, and since they'd started dating as the school year came to a close, it was easy to hide. Their parents and siblings knew, of course, but that was it. Rachel's party was the first night they'd been together in assembled glee club company and those two or three hours of not touching or kissing had proven ineffective. The secret was out.

Mercedes sent Sam a text message as she gathered her purse and keys. _On my way to LB to meet K. Don't know how but he knows._

Kurt was waiting for her when she got to the coffee shop. He was hurt—and curious—but once she'd explained the whys and wherefores, curiosity won out over the hurt. Two coffees, a scone, and a mild tongue lashing later, they were laughing as Kurt shared the events that transpired after she and Sam had made their getaway, how Brittany had coaxed them to get back to the game, which resulted in Puck sharing an awkward kiss with Blaine and Rachel smooching with Santana who then had to kiss Finn, which sparked a ridiculous argument between Finn and Rachel about whether it was cheating for two members of a couple to kiss the same person.

"I'm glad I missed that," Mercedes said. "Rachel's my friend, but sometimes she's just too much."

Kurt nodded. "And just what were you two in such a hurry to do? You guys practically flew up those stairs. By the way," he took a sip of his coffee, "tell Sam that he needs to keep his hands off your assets if he wants to keep your relationship secret."

"We had things to discuss," she said primly, desperate to keep from giggling. "And Sam's hands didn't actually touch my ass then—did they?"

Kurt laughed. "No, they didn't—but they were close." Kurt got quiet, his face all serious and concerned. "Are you happy? Does he treat you right?"

Mercedes cocked her head as she answered "Of course he does. You know I don't suffer fools. And yes, I'm really, really happy." She grinned a wide grin, and she and Kurt raised their coffees in a toast.

"I have to admit I did doubt my detective skills when the kissing game started. I figured you would be visibly furious about anyone kissing your man."

"I thought I would be, too, but watching Tina kiss him was really sweet and—" her voice trailed off to a mumble as she took a deep sip of her coffee.

"Really sweet and what?" Kurt asked playfully, eager to find out why she was so clearly undone now.

"kindahot" she said quickly, then rose to toss the empty cup and bus her plate.

Kurt followed her. "Kinda hot, Miss Jones?" He stared at her, one perfectly shaped eyebrow cocked in great interest.

She nodded matter-of-factly.

Kurt pressed further. "And what about when he kissed Finn?"

Mercedes pretended to weigh her answer, although Kurt could see that she was about to explode. "YOu would think that since Finn was involved, the whole thing would have been a hot mess," she began, "but I have to say that comparatively speaking, watching my man kiss Finn was about ten times hotter." She squealed, no longer able to contain the unexpected thrill she'd felt at the whole experience. She waited for Kurt to gather his belongings and then headed out to her car.

Shoulder to shoulder, they leaned against the jeep's rear bumper. "You really did enjoy that, then?" he asked, as though her answer was entirely unexpected.

Merecedes nodded. "Yeah. Really. It was like seeing two sides of him, sides I don't get to see when I'm kissing him because _I'm_ kissing _him_, you know?" She looked at Kurt, who was trying to follow. "He looked so sweet and peaceful when Tina kissed him, and it reminded me of how it felt when he kissed me that first time." She was looking down at her shoes, surprised she was speaking so freely to Kurt about what she hadn't yet been able to articulate to Sam.

"And Finn?" Kurt asked.

Mercedes bit her bottom lip. "Sam owned that kiss. He was so powerful, so sure of himself, like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be kissing Finn right then and there. And Finn—"

"—just let him." Kurt finished the sentence for her, and they stood for a moment in silence.

"It didn't really mean anything," Mercedes offered. She took Kurt's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. She knew that river hadn't really run dry—wouldn't ever, really—but she also knew that Kurt valued the brotherly friendship he now had with Finn more than anything else.

The alarm on Mercedes' phone went off. She needed to get over to the boutique. Kurt gave her a quick hug. "You know you can talk to me about anything? Right?"

Mercedes nodded and added "Ditto." She got into the jeep and drove away, waving at Kurt in her rear view mirror. They really hadn't spent much time together this summer. She was going to have to do something about that.

###

Sam couldn't call Mercedes until his lunch break, which, when he thought about it, was a pretty good indicator of how much of a non-event Kurt's knowledge of their relationship was to him. Since he hadn't received any frantic calls or texts—or any other messages of any kind at all—he expected a pretty calm girlfriend when he finally got the chance to ring her at work.

"—said, hell no you don't!" Mercedes laughed as she answered the phone. "Hi Sam."

"Just you and Misty there today?"

"You know it. Irene would tan my hide if she heard me talking like that." Mercedes motioned to Misty that she was going to the office. "How many little darlings have you rescued today?"

Sam spent his days as a lifeguard at the Lima Recreation Center, a position that got his family reduced rates for the summer day camp for Stevie and Stacy. He was glad for the work, but he didn't much enjoy being the target of preteen affections, especially after one of the regulars recognized him from his Justin Bieber Experience gigs. After that, there'd been a rash of mysterious swim injuries, all of which required his lifeguardly attentions.

"Only 4 today," he sighed. "It's tough to be a sex god."

Mercedes chuckled. "When you start your first grownup sex riot, we'll evaluate your god status. Until then, don't get too full of yourself, Blondie." She smiled and bit her bottom lip in anticipation of his response.

"You seemed to have a lot to scream about last night when my tongue was—"

"Samuel Evans! You'd better watch your mouth!" Mercedes was screaming with laughter. "Think of the children!"

"Oh, shit! The door!" He'd left open the office door, just beyond which was a gaggle of prepubescent swimmers whispering and giggling and pointing. He quickly closed the door, realizing after doing so that he was in effect giving the girls more things to giggle about. His back to the wall, he slid down to sit on the floor. "I've got no game."

"Oh, you have game, baby. You're just stuck in Little League at the moment." She laughed. "If you work extra hard, though, I might bump you up to the minors." Mercedes grabbed a soda from the fridge in the office. "So I talked to Kurt today."

"How did he know?"

"He's suspected for a long time, but your grabby hands last night were the final bit of evidence he needed."

"You OK?"

"I think so. I mean, I'm glad to finally be able to talk to him about it." He could hear her eyes get a little sadder, could sense her fingers fiddling with the tape measure she wore around her neck while at the boutique.

"We don't have to tell anyone else if you don't want to."

Mercedes sighed. "Nah. It's really OK. I just really enjoyed having you to myself for a while."

Sam picked at a tear in the worn office carpet. "You can have me to yourself any time you want. You know that."

She nodded. "I know. It's just different when everybody else knows, like it's not just you and me anymore, but everybody is part of it now."

Sam was shaking his head as he walked over to his locker to get his lunch. "I'm not dating the glee club, Mercy, and neither are you. As long as we're open and honest with each other, nothing can come between us. OK?"

Mercedes grabbed a tissue to dab at her eyes. _Damn boy has no idea how much game he actually has_, she thought. "Deal. Now get back out there and try not to be so gorgeous? Somebody could get hurt."

"Damnit, Mercy! I'm a sex god, not a—"

"Cool, it, Bones. You know I love you, but that? That is exactly why you have no game. Everybody knows Spock is way sexier."

Sam was stunned. She loved him? And she knew about— "Have you been watching Trek without me?"

"You'll have to check my Netflix history to find out." Mercedes glanced at the office computer and thought about watching a few episodes while she did her afternoon's alterations. Maybe it would take her mind off of the fact that she'd just blurted out to Sam that she loved him, and he'd said nothing back.

"Breakfast tomorrow?"

"7:30 sharp."

"Great! I'll bring some OJ. And Mercy?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you too." Sam hung up the phone and kissed it before putting it into his pocket. Not the way he'd wanted to tell her, but exactly the thing he wanted to say in the moment he'd said it. Satisfied, he grabbed his lunch, pulled out the newest _Spiderman_, and enjoyed being Sam Evans, Gameless Lover of Mercedes Jones.

###

Finn was thinking about conjunctions.

He'd spent the better part of the morning doing oil changes and tune ups. Fridays were particularly busy during the summer at Burt's garage, and Finn appreciated the opportunity to earn some extra cash and spend time with the new members of his family. Today, though, Kurt was in a funk and had locked himself in the office to do some bookkeeping, and Burt and his mom were away for the weekend. This was good, actually, because today Finn's head was full of things that he didn't want to think or talk about, and since he didn't want to think or talk about them, all he could think about (and, he feared, talk about) were those precise things.

Sometimes he wished that life was as simple as math problems, not like trig or anything, but the stuff that made sense, like addition and subtraction. But people weren't numbers—they were more like words or nouns, they had meanings, they could move around. Like the new sign Burt had ordered for the garage—"Hummel and Sons". Math with words. A few minutes of thinking in that direction and Finn found himself contemplating conjunctions and compounds.

"Rachel and Finn." He smiled.

"Rachel or Finn." Nah, that didn't make any sense. Neither did "Rachel yet Finn" or "Rachel so Finn" or "Rachel but Finn" or "Rachel nor Finn," although "Rachel for Finn" sounded good. He reversed the order of their names, clicking off the FANBOYS one by one, wrinkling his brow or laughing at the absurdity of each permutation of their connection. It wasn't long before he'd moved up to compound sentences.

What had Rachel said to him a week ago, when they were making out, deep into negotiations about heading to home plate? "I want to be with you, but I'm going to New York after graduation." For the first time, Finn got what his English teacher meant when she said that conjunctions color the meaning of the words they're connected to. No matter how true the part at the start of the sentence might be, what comes after a "but" means it's not totally true, not at all.

"She's not my type, but—" How many times had that thought run through his head since he'd kissed Mercedes the night before? Worse, he'd been repeating the start of another sentence-"I'm not gay, but…"—as he turned over exactly what it had meant that he'd been kissed by—and enjoyed being kissed by—Sam. He knew that the kisses were just part of the game, but he found that he couldn't quite shake them off. Maybe the oil fumes were getting to him.

He grabbed a soda and sat out on the sidewalk in front of the garage door, returning to safer territory, playing the conversation he'd had with Rachel after Nationals back in his head.

"I'm going to New York, and I'm never coming back."

He wondered if—or how—he was supposed to join himself to her declaration, if there was any room or hope for a "but" or a "so" or an "or." He realized he'd never really thought beyond graduation, not about them at least, and "Rachel and Finn" just seemed like a block of being without a clear purpose or future, while Rachel was an I with a plan. Was he an I with a plan, or was he planning to tack himself on to the sentence of her life without giving more thought to his own?

This deep, deep thinking—which another person might have seen as evidence, perhaps, of the awesome power of words—was interrupted by the arrival of yet another customer in need of an oil change or a tune up or new windshield wipers. Finn, desperate to stop the aching in his head, tuned the radio station to NPR and cranked it up, the well-modulated voices of the reporters and commentators providing enough words to mask the strange blending of phrases and clauses bouncing around in his brain as he tried to find the right connectors to hold them together.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own none of Glee, but I manage to find joy all the same.

A/N: No Finn in this one. Thanks again for the reviews; I'm glad folks are enjoying this!

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><p>Chapter 3: This Day and Age We're Living In<p>

_In which it is a Saturday morning in a string of Saturday mornings._

Sam lived for Saturday morning. When he was 9—before Stevie and Stacy showed up—Saturday mornings were for cartoons and Star Wars and the silver dollar pancakes his mom would make for them after she and his dad were done sleeping in. After the twins were born, Saturday mornings were for the same things, but better, because he got to help make the pancakes and then he'd get to practice his big brother skills. He struggled with reading, but he would draw and sing with them while his mom and dad enjoyed some (mostly) alone time.

When he went away to boarding school, Saturdays changed. The other guys usually slept late, eager to relax after a long week of classes and sports and staying up all night playing video games. No matter how he felt, Sam kept to his Saturday morning ritual, making do in the dormitory kitchen with a microwave and frozen waffles. He'd watch his favorite movies on the dvd player in the common room, and sometimes, especially when the seasons changed, he'd grab a sketch pad and shimmy out the 4th storey window to the forbidden ledge. The view of the mountains from that point was perfect, and Sam loved to feel the shift in the weather on his skin while he drew whatever the world inspired.

On other Saturdays he was out early hunting or fishing with his dad. His sketchbook was always with him, but after scaring away a doe when the book fell out of his hands and off of the deer stand, he only brought it out on the way home or sitting around the cabin, sketching out his memories of the day. He and his dad talked a lot—about sports and school and work and what it meant to be a man—but they never seemed to talk about Sam's drawings or his guitar or his gift for impressions. They'd go home to dress the deer or filet the fish, and then Sam would help his mom with the cooking. When he'd return to school after a weekend at home, it always took a full day or so to shake off his dad and the outdoors so that he could be the quarterback who also read comic books and drew landscapes.

After they moved to Lima, Sam went back to making the Saturday pancakes and started introducing the twins to classics of sci fi cinema. He missed the alone time—and sometimes even the fishing—and it wasn't too long before he was pulling out his sketch pad on the deck at their suburban home. The drab utilitarian fencing marched along the back of their lot, effectively blocking the view of a home identical to the one they occupied. Sam couldn't help but long for the mountain views. He found his inspiration elsewhere—in the new people and experiences at McKinley, at first, and later, as his family's financial realities came clear, in the dark and thin unknown.

He didn't take out the sketchbook at the motel, and they never had pancakes. By the time they got there, he was exhausted from working nights at the pizza place, struggling to keep up with school, trying to keep the twins' spirits up. Saturday morning was the one morning when he could keep his eyes shut and pretend that things were different, so he'd pull the thin blanket over his head to block out the light and dream. Eventually Stevie or Stacy would pounce on him and tickle him out of the darkness for a little while, but by the time the sun set and he headed out to work, after he'd sat down with his parents to do their weekly accounting while the twins played on the meager porch outside their door, things looked blacker and bleaker than ever.

###

On this Saturday in mid-August, Sam rolls to the edge of the bed. His fingertips brush the canvas of his knapsack, and he unzips it and roots around for the sketchbook and pencil he always carries. He moves slowly, desperate not to wake Mercedes, who is snoozing beside him. Paper and pencil in hand, he slowly scoots up until he is sitting against the soft headboard, a couple of pillows behind his back for extra support, and he looks at what is fast becoming the best Saturday inspiration he's ever had.

For a couple of months now—since the start of June, to be exact—he's been coming to Mercedes' house on Saturday mornings for breakfast. Her dad volunteers at the health clinic downtown on Saturdays, and her mother is usually busy at her boutique, so Saturday mornings have become their time. No kids for Sam to corral, no pizzas for Sam to deliver, no dress alterations for Mercedes to complete—nothing but breakfast and movies. At first.

Things changed the Saturday after the party at Rachel's. Sam had come over around 7:30, just in time to say a quick hello/goodbye to the Joneses and to find Mercedes taking a piping hot breakfast casserole out of the oven. That should have been his first clue that something was up—the previous weeks they'd always cooked something together—but he'd happily eaten with her and listened as she shared stories about the customers she'd been fitting that week. He hadn't noticed the nervous way that she kept twisting her napkin or that her eyes kept flicking over to the clock on the microwave. He'd just been so happy and thankful for her and for Saturdays that after they'd put away the leftovers and washed the dishes, he'd just assumed that she was leading him to her bedroom instead of the den because she'd left the movie in there or something. It wasn't until she'd closed the door behind him and stood against it, breathing nervously, her eyes fire and a small smile at her mouth, that he'd realized what this morning meant and Saturday morning became so much more awesome than it had ever been.

That was their first time, a sweetly awkward encounter that had ended almost as quickly as it had begun. Mercedes had been forward, but shy, and Sam, only slightly more experienced, had taken as much care as nerves would allow to try to make it memorable for them both. He'd managed to hold off his orgasm until he'd entered her, but one kiss and the feel of her thighs pressing against his hips was enough to break his tenuous hold. She'd been a bit disappointed, but he'd taken the opportunity to kiss her body the way he knew she liked to be kissed, moving his lips and tongue slowly over the stiff peaks of her nipples, dipping into and nibbling at her navel until his tongue licked—gently, at first, then with increasing intensity—at her clit. His hands had gripped her thighs, keeping her open to him. She'd leaned up on her elbows at one point, wanting to see what this looked like, his long blond-brown hair against the dark curls on her pussy. He'd looked into her eyes then, sucked at her clit a bit harder, and she'd collapsed back on the pillows until she came. They'd held each other afterward, and they would have given it all another try, but Mercedes' alarm clock rang to warn them that noon—and her father's return—was approaching, so they'd cleaned off and dressed, and Sam had headed back to the motel and the weekly family accounting feeling richer than he ever thought he could.

###

He flips through the sketch pad. He's finally started drawing again, the first image a self-portrait from a photograph that Mercedes thought was perfect. He almost hadn't recognized himself in the picture, his jaw emphasized by his longer hair, his eyes harder and sharper—and clearer—than he'd remembered. As he'd drawn his own face, he'd thought about the year and he'd begun to understand that losing everything had brought him more than he'd realized.

###

The day after the first time, when Sam took Mercedes on their weekly Sunday night date (the Lima Theatre downtown showed Hollywood classics for half-price), he'd finally felt like he could ask her the question that had been bugging him since the Sunday after prom. She'd called him to thank him for a great night, and they'd started talking about nothing until they stopped two hours later. He'd enjoyed it so much he'd called her after his pizza deliveries were done the next night. The rest, as they say, is history, but to Sam, who'd been a witness to events, there was one thing he didn't quite get.

"Why me?"

Mercedes put her purse in the empty seat next to her and took a sip of her drink. "Why you what?" She reached for the popcorn.

"Why me—" Sam paused, searching for the right word. "Why me everything? I mean, I've got nothing to offer you, Mercedes, nothing except my heart and a bunch of goofy impressions."

She shifted in the seat next to him, put the bucket of popcorn they were sharing onto the floor along with their drinks, and, taking his hand, looked very seriously and deeply into his eyes as she said, "Bieber and bolo ties. That and the fact that you're fearless, which means you're worth all of _this_ fierceness." She picked up her drink, handed him his, and turned her attention back to the screen, where black and white animated popcorn tubs, candy boxes, and drinks were dancing up a storm.

Sam sat staring at the screen, condensation dripping from the side of his cup, and he tried to figure out what Mercedes meant. He knew better than to press any further right now; the movie was about to start, and Mercedes seemed to enjoy the oldies as much as he loved sci-fi. He transferred his cup to the cupholder, wiped his hand on his shorts, and picked up the popcorn bucket so that he and Mercedes could share it as they watched the movie.

Mercedes wasn't a big fan of tonight's film; she and her mom had watched _Imitation of Life_ a few times before, and with each viewing she got more and more frustrated with the story of two single mothers, one white and one black, and the daughters they were trying to raise. When her mother saw the movie listing in the Sunday paper, she'd joked "Guess it's the summer of black maids raising white women's children," and Mercedes had rolled her eyes. Her mother's book club had just finished reading _The Help_ in preparation for the film's release, and since it was summer and the meeting was in their home, Mercedes had joined the club for a lively discussion. Truth be told, she'd thought about giving this movie a miss after that discussion, but her mother had always insisted that she confront the things that made her uncomfortable. Seeing this movie with Sam definitely did that, so she went.

Still, since she'd seen it already, she didn't have to watch it closely. Instead, Mercedes was having a great time sneaking glances at Sam as he frowned and bit at his bottom lip. She'd meant what she said—Bieber and bolo ties were why she'd gotten up the nerve to call him—but sitting here next to him, watching him try to sort out her little cryptic riddle because what she thought about him _mattered_ to him, she understood why she'd decided to have sex with him the previous morning and why she'd felt so nervous before seeing him tonight. This was real, like really, really real, which meant that she really had something to lose now. Being with Sam felt good and awful at the same time, and she kept playing over scenes from the previous morning and weeks in her mind. Before she knew it, the funeral on screen signaled the film's ending.

Sam was crying. She'd been so lost in her thinking that she'd actually missed the movie, but Sam clearly hadn't. She fished a packet of tissues from her purse and handed him one. He took it gratefully, and they sat in the theatre while the other patrons (mostly middle-aged or elderly) made their way out.

"So you liked it?" she asked.

Sam shook his head. "Hated it." His voice was hard, and she was surprised. "How could she do that to her mom? After everything she sacrificed for her? Selfish, selfish" he muttered under his breath as he gathered the now empty drink cups and popcorn bucket.

Mercedes followed him out to the lobby, grabbing his hand after he'd tossed the empties into the garbage. "Sam? What's got you?"

Mercedes' grip on his forearm brought Sam out of his frustration. "Sorry," he said. "That movie kinda took me by surprise." He took her hand as they walked to through the lobby. "Family is everything to me, especially now. How could Sarah Jane hate where she came from so much?"

They were standing outside the theatre now, and neither one of them felt much like talking. Mercedes took his hand, steering them both toward the ice cream parlor next to the theatre. They ordered their usual—a banana split—and sat across from each other in one of the retro-themed booths.

Sam took a bite of the ice cream. "So…Bieber? Everybody seemed to think it was lame."

Mercedes laughed as she licked some whipped cream from the cherry. "It was, but you owned it and that was what made it awesome. That," she continued, "and the fact that you were willing to hang yourself out there for your girl—" She paused, still a bit uneasy about bringing up old hurts. Sam was quiet, but not visibly shaken, so she kept going. "You seemed like a really stand-up guy. And then you had to ruin it by dating Satan." Mercedes popped a spoonful of the ice cream in her mouth and grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes and grudgingly nodded. "Yeah, I know. That was a mistake."

"Well, you kept on being a stand-up guy, even after we all turned against you." Mercedes' voice was softer now. She knew that Sam had forgiven her—forgiven all of them—for what they'd accused him of doing with Quinn and Kurt, but she hadn't quite forgiven herself yet. "You started really sharing yourself with us after that. You were brave."

They were both smiling now, and Sam offered Mercedes the chocolate ice cream he'd just scooped up with his spoon. "And the bolo tie?" he asked, curious about its role in winning her heart.

"Admit it—you love that tie." Mercedes stared at him expectantly. Sam tried not to smile and failed miserably. "You were so comfortable at Prom, so confident. Even St. Jerk couldn't shake you. All I could think the next morning was that the fearless guy in the awful bolo tie was the best looking thing I'd seen in a long time, and I wanted to get to know him better."

Sam took her free hand in his. "I'm glad you did." He scraped up the last bit of ice cream and chocolate sauce and fed it to her. She leaned across the table and kissed him, sharing the treat, then took the empty glass and spoons back to the counter. Sam quickly composed himself, grabbed her purse and held the door open for her as they left the ice cream parlor. They held hands as they walked back to her car, pausing for a moment to watch one of the movie theater attendants changing the letters on the marquee.

"Sorry I got so upset about that movie," Sam said.

Mercedes shot him a sideways glance. "I'm not. You're supposed to be mad at Sarah Jane because you're supposed to sympathize with her mom. And don't get me started on 'Miss Lora' and Susie." She shook her head as she looked down at the pavement. "What's really awful is that Sarah Jane is right about needing to pass," she said bitterly as she gently pulled Sam to continue walking to the car. "Only way she'd be able to get ahead back then."

They were both silent as they got into the car, and Mercedes began to worry that she'd said too much. They'd never really talked about race, their little cocoon of secrecy shielding them from having to acknowledge certain realities.

"Do you think people still do that?" Sam asked.

"What, try to pass?" She shrugged. "I'm sure they do, if they can and they think they need to, but I hope not. That's a shitty way to live your life, always trying to be something that isn't all of who you are." They were stopped at a light now, and she took the opportunity to grab Sam's hand. "Bieber and bolo ties. Fearless." She gave his hand a squeeze, more to strengthen herself than him, then released his hand as the light changed and she drove on.

He smiled and nodded. "Yeah. I get it." And he did get it, but the conversation and the movie stuck with him for a long time afterward.

###

He is sketching her now, building her face from memory since all he can see at the moment is the gentle full curve of her hip beneath the deep purple sheets on her bed and the smooth expanse of her shoulder and back. Her hair—

Sam stops drawing and looks at Mercedes' hair. He's never really touched it, not because she'd said not to or because he didn't want to, but because of something Santana had said to him once about black women and their hair. He doesn't really know what a weave is, but he knows is not "hers" in the way that he understands hair. Curious, he gets out of the bed and looks around the room for photographs, pausing at a colorful collage of school portraits. Mercedes in pigtails. Mercedes with a cute puffy bun on her head. Mercedes with sleek straight hair—much like she wears it now. Mercedes with a riot of fluffy curls framing her beautiful face. He smiles and reaches out a finger to stroke the image.

"I didn't think it was possible, but your ass just gets finer every day."

He jumps at the sound of her voice and turns toward her, his face a bit flushed from the surprise and the feeling that he'd just been caught doing something naughty. Mercedes chuckles, then stretches, her arm brushing the sketch pad he'd left on his pillow. She looks at the sketch he'd been doing of her.

"Why am I bald, Sam?" There was a bit of an edge to her voice, but it wasn't anger so much as a guarded curiosity.

"I wasn't sure how I wanted to draw you," he says. He takes the pad and finds the pencil before sitting back against the pillows. "I was trying to see you as I drew—you know, like that picture of me that you like so much, how you said it really was me." She nodded, so he continued. "When I started to draw your hair, I realized that I've never really even touched it."

She sits up in the bed, pulling the sheet to cover her chest. "So touch it. I won't stop you."

Sam reaches out a hand to touch her hair, then stops. To Sam, she looks scared and angry and hurt all at the same time, so he strokes her cheek instead. "Mercy? Talk to me?"

Mercedes leans back against the headboard. Her voice is bitter and hard. "Talk to you about what, Sam? It's just hair."

Biting back the impulse to give as good as he got, Sam says "No, clearly it's not."

Mercedes looks at the clock. 11:15. She turns her back to Sam and grabs the robe on the floor. "Playtime's over for today."

Sam watches as the soft terrycloth covers her smooth skin, and he wonders why she pauses as she pulls her hair out from beneath the collar of the robe. He's hit a nerve, a really deep one, and the heat of the shame of hurting her makes him angry. He stands and quickly dresses, his hands tugging and pushing and stuffing at his clothes and his knapsack. He waits outside the door to her bedroom while she washes up in her bathroom, fists clenching and unclenching in frustration. He's hurt her. She doesn't trust him. He is afraid.

She comes out of the bedroom and seems surprised to find him still sitting there. "I thought you'd left."

"Mercy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

She shakes her head. "It's OK, Sam. I just need to think right now."

He nods and rises to leave. She walks with him to the front door and opens it. He stands in the doorway, one foot out, one foot in, and looks at her. "Are we—" he hesitates, not sure what's happening, "are we going to be OK?"

She reaches for his hand and gives it a quick squeeze. She nods, then leans up to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. "It's not about you. I just need to figure out something I didn't realize was bugging me."

He doesn't know what's bugging her, but he understands about needing to figure things out. "See you tomorrow night? I checked; it's something called _Now, Voyager_ tomorrow. I love sea movies."

Mercedes shakes with laughter, and Sam laughs along with her, not quite sure what's so funny, but glad that he's said something to make her smile. She sniffs as she finishes, wiping away the tears from her cheeks. "Don't ever say that to Kurt. And I think we should take tomorrow night off," she says, her voice now serious. "I really need to think about this—" she points to her hair—"and us."

Sam purses his lips and nods. "You know I love you, no matter what, right?" He hugs her tight, kissing her forehead as he releases her. "Call me when you're ready?"

She smiles. "I will. And I won't make you wait too long. I promise."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own none of Glee, but I manage to find joy all the same.

A/N: Sorry for the delay; this chapter was a real beast to tame. Thanks for the reviews and hope you continue to enjoy!

* * *

><p>Chapter 4: Yet We Get a Trifle Weary<p>

_In which Mercedes stops hiding, Sam gets an education, and Finn actually does something useful._

Mercedes sat on the edge of the bed, her back to Sam, and pulled on the terry robe. She couldn't get it on fast enough, couldn't get herself out of the danger of the bed, into the safety of the bathroom, away from Sam's eyes and fingers. As she moved to pull her hair from the collar of the robe, she realized she'd never get away from her own hands.

She started the shower and grabbed the plastic cap nestled among the bottles of lotions and creams, quickly securing it around her hair, protecting that precious treasure from harm. The water was hot, and she stood still as the tiny needles pricked her skin. Droplets flicked against the plastic cap, pinging the word she'd been trying to keep out of her head since they'd seen _Imitation of Life_ two weeks ago. Passing.

Mercedes swallowed the cry welling in her throat and pushed down the urge to punch something. She worked through the breathing exercises Dr. Parker had taught her to use, taking deep breaths, gulping the air at first, then gaining control as the warm water washed over her and she was able to quiet the storm she felt welling inside her.

When her head cleared, she acknowledged she'd been waiting for this, wondering how long she'd be able to hide herself from Sam before he figured out how scared she was. "He knows now," she muttered as she reached for the bath puff to wash off. As she showered and dried off, she retraced the events of the morning, searching her memory to find what Dr. Parker called "the catalyst." She closed her eyes as she remembered Sam's lovemaking, how sweetly and tenderly he'd kissed and caressed her, murmuring his love and desire in her ear as he pressed himself into her over and over. Mercedes smiled at the memory as she wrapped herself once again in the robe. Sam. She'd just left him in the bedroom alone, and the thought of it brought back the anger in a rush. She pressed a hand against the doorframe as she turned the doorknob, pushing her anger and fear into the wood as she walked back into her bedroom.

Sam wasn't there. Mercedes let out a rush of breath, a sigh, a tear. She wiped it away hastily. She couldn't blame him for going; she'd practically told him to get out. The clothes she'd been wearing when he arrived were neatly draped across the back of her desk chair; she put them back on.

As she hastily made up the bed, she noticed a stray blond hair on Sam's pillow—the pillow Sam used, she corrected herself—and she held it up to the light. It hung limply from her fingers, straight and slender, smooth and sleek. She let out a sigh. "What am I doing?" she asked aloud before dropping the hair into the wastebasket at her bedside. She needed to get moving; her parents would be home soon, and they'd be confused about midday showers. She'd make up something to explain Sam's absence—he usually left after they'd returned—and then she was going to take a walk. She had a lot of thinking to do.

Sam had surprised her by sticking around. She'd been tempted to sweep that whole conversation about her hair away, to just let it all be like it was, right up until he'd made that ridiculous comment about _Now Voyager_. And then it seemed so stupid, this struggle she'd been having about being fully herself. Right then she'd decided it was time to be as brave as she'd always thought herself, time to woman up.

He'd kissed her forehead as he'd said his goodbyes and she'd promised not to make him wait too long for her to figure out what was bothering her. After he left, Mercedes leaned against the closed door and closed her eyes.

###

At 4:30 on Sunday afternoon, Irene Jones rubbed her eyes and smiled when she heard her daughter's swift knock at her home office door. "Come in," she called, removing the reading glasses perched on her nose and gently placing them atop the stack of invoices on her desk. She watched Mercedes walk over to the soft upholstered couch along the far wall of the room, then rose and walked over to sit beside her daughter. They sat in silence for a moment. Irene watched Mercedes' fingers fiddle with the aubergine fringe surrounding one of the dark brown couch pillows and waited.

Mercedes put the pillow on her mom's lap, then laid her head on top of it. "You were right," she sighed. She exhaled and closed her eyes as she felt her mother's hands gently stroking her hair. The tears were finally coming, but she kept talking. "Tina and I sang this song in glee club last year, and it felt good because we had just won Sectionals. It's been in my head since Sam—" Mercedes started sobbing at the mention of Sam's name.

Irene was surprised at the outburst, but rubbed her daughter's back as she cried. It had been a busy week at the dress shop what with a couple of wedding party fittings and a shipment of fall clothing coming in, so she hadn't thought much of the shifts in Mercedes' mood; when things got really busy there, everyone was stressed. Clearly, though, something else had been on her daughter's mind, and as she soothed her, Irene ran through a list of all the possible burdens Mercedes might be carrying, praying that whatever was bothering her, whatever had happened with Sam, that it wouldn't take much more than a good cry to repair her baby girl's heart.

When Mercedes stopped crying, Irene offered her the box of tissues she kept on the small table next to the couch. Mercedes took a couple of tissues and dried her eyes, then swapped the damp pillow for a dry one and returned her head to her mother's lap.

Irene's voice was calm. "So, that song? Sing it to me?" Mercedes nodded and sniffed before she started singing, and it didn't take too long for Irene to understand what was in her baby's heart. She smiled as Mercedes half-sang, half-whispered the song. Irene remembered this one now; Mercedes and Tina had practiced it at home, and the song's opening line—"happiness hit her like a train on a track"—had stuck with her for days afterward. The song's sentiment reminded her of a favorite from her own youth, Maze's "Joy and Pain," and she and Quentin had sung it to their embarrassed daughter in front of Tina.

When Mercedes was finished, Irene said "So Sam? A bullet in the back?"

Mercedes nodded. "He wanted to touch my hair."

Relieved that this was the issue and not any of the awful ones she'd been thinking of, Irene tried to suppress a laugh, but Mercedes could feel the shift in her mother's posture. She sat up immediately, fire in her eyes. "Mom! It's not funny!"

Irene dissembled into laughter. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." She calmed herself, sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes. She smoothed Mercedes' hair, wiping a stray strand from her cheek and tweaking her bangs. "You're beautiful, from your head to your toes. If that boy can't see all of the beauty in you—"

"No, Mom, that's not it." Mercedes stood and walked around the coffee table to stand behind the leather chair opposite the couch. She gripped the back of the chair, and Irene was struck with how much taller and stronger her daughter seemed. "Sam thinks I'm beautiful. He loves me."

Irene pursed her lips and nodded. "So what's the problem?"

Mercedes opened her mouth to speak, then shut it, walked around the chair and flopped into it. She and Irene sat in silence, Mercedes' eyes closed, Irene staring at her manicured nails. After a moment, Irene's eyes fell on her watch. It was nearing five o'clock, she and Quentin were attending a fundraiser in Dayton at 7, and while she loved her daughter and didn't want to rush the conversation, time was running short.

Mercedes was struggling; she and her mother had been arguing about her hair for several years now, Irene urging her to leave it natural, Mercedes insisting first on relaxers and then weaves. Ever since Mr. Schue had given them that "Born This Way" assignment, though, the issue had been nagging at her, and Sam's question had brought all of her doubts—doubts about who she was and how she represented herself to the world and to him—rushing to the front of her mind. In a way, it had been easy, really, to give her body to him because she loved him and trusted in his love for her, and in return, she showed him every day that she didn't care how much or little he had as long as she had him. So why, when there were so few barriers between them, was she so freaked out and reluctant to let him see all of her?

Irene finally opened her mouth to speak, but Mercedes was faster.

"I want it out. Will you help me?"

Irene nodded, a small grin turning up the corners of her mouth. "Sure, baby." She wanted to know more about what was going on in Mercedes' head, but she decided to just wait and see; she genuinely liked Sam because Sam seemed genuinely interested in genuinely loving her daughter, and clearly liking Sam was making Mercedes ask questions about how much she liked herself. "When do you want to do it?"

"I was thinking Friday night?" Mercedes asked.

Irene nodded. "I take it Sam's coming for breakfast on Saturday?"

"I hope so." Mercedes' voice was low. "I haven't talked to him since he left yesterday after we—" she paused and looked over at her mother. Irene's expression was placid, so Mercedes continued. "I told him I needed some time to think. I guess I need to let him know I'm finished thinking."

Irene leaned forward, her hands clasped, her arms resting on her legs. "Are you?"

Mercedes looked into her mother's eyes. "Yeah. For now." She smiled, then rose and walked over to give her mom a hug. "Thanks, Mom."

Irene squeezed Mercedes hard. "You're welcome." She released her daughter, then stood and took her hand. "Think you can help me get ready for this benefit your father and I have to attend? I've got about 20 minutes left to become fabulous."

Mercedes appraised her mother's current appearance. "20 minutes isn't a whole lot of time, but I think I can do something with you."

Irene rolled her eyes and shook her head, then burst out laughing with her daughter as they left the study.

###

Kurt returned from a Sunday night out with Blaine to find Finn, Puck, and Sam engaged in an intense game of Horse in the backyard. He carefully opened the sliding patio door and stepped out, moving along the side of the house to the farthest chair from the goal. He watched as Puck gritted his teeth and took his shot. Finn shouted "Yes!" as the ball bounced off the rim and away from the goal. Puck muttered "shit!" under his breath, then grudgingly gave Finn a high five. Sam sat at the table with Kurt and chugged the remainder of one of the three bottles of water sitting there. "I take it something significant just happened?" asked Kurt.

Sam shrugged. "That was Puck's E, and since I'm at R and Finn's at O—"

Kurt shook his head rapidly. "'Finn won' would suffice." He reached for a bottle of water in the cooler against the house, and Sam watched as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to dry the bottle before opening it. Kurt took a drink, then looked at Sam. "Why aren't you out with Mercedes?"

Sam sat back in the chair and exhaled as he looked up at the night sky. Puck and Finn grabbed water from the cooler and joined them at the table. Sam screwed up his mouth. "I asked her about her hair."

Kurt gasped, his eyes wide. Finn's looked away from Sam as mouth made a little "O". Puck took a quick drink from his bottle.

Sam shook his head, biting at his lip the entire time. "I know, I know. Santana warned me—"

Puck sputtered, spewing water across the table at Finn.

"Dude! Gross!" Finn quickly accepted the handkerchief Kurt extended to him.

"Sorry!" Puck spat, then turned on Sam. "Since when are you listening to Santana again?"

Sam shook his head. "It was ages ago, when we were dating. She was showing me this video of girls fighting on YouTube—said it got her in the mood—and this white girl reached out and pulled off this black girl's ponytail and—" Sam paused. Kurt, Finn, and Puck were staring, slack-jawed, as he told the story. "What?"

"Santana watches girl fights," began Finn

"To get in the mood?" concluded Puck. He and Finn stared at each other.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Ignore them," he said to Sam. "Their brains are shorting out. Continue?"

Sam nodded. "Anyway, after the one girl pulled out the other girl's ponytail, the fight turned into a bloodbath." Sam winced at the memory of the fight, the girls scratching at each other, tearing clothes, pulling out earrings. Santana had been really turned on when it was over, but he'd felt dirty and gross for having watched it. He shook off the feeling. "Santana said 'Lady Lips, if you want to have children, never mess with a black woman's hair without her permission.'" Sam sat back in the chair, one arm resting on the table, fingers drumming the dark wood surface. "Mercedes was really upset, but it's not like we were fighting or anything."

Kurt leaned in. "Tell me you didn't pull her hair during sex."

Sam quickly shook his head "no," his face turning red at his inadvertent revelation that he and Mercedes were having sex at all. "I was sketching her—" Kurt clasped his hands and made dreamy eyes, while Puck snorted derisively. "And I realized I'd never really touched her hair, so I said that and then she told me to touch it but she seemed pissed so I didn't which seemed to piss her off more and then it was just all awkward."

Puck rose to leave. "I don't need ovaries, so I'll just leave this in Kurt's soft hands." He reached across the table to bump fists with Finn. "Sorry to leave you on your own." Finally, he turned to Sam. "Two things: Mercedes is who she is and what she is is awesome. Nothing and nobody can change that any more than Lauren and I can stop being the badasses we are or Kurt can change loving clothes so much or Santana can stop being a bitch. But Mercedes is also more than who she is, if you know what I mean."

Sam nodded and said "Thanks" and Puck left the patio. He stared at the drink in his hand.

"Maybe you need to educate yourself."

Kurt and Sam slowly turned their heads to look at Finn. "What did you say?" Kurt asked. Sam grabbed a handful of chips from the bag at the center of the table.

Finn shrugged. "After we started dating the first time, Rachel made me read all this stuff about Jewish and African American history. She said that to understand her, I needed to understand the history and struggles of her people. Or something. Anyway, it just seems like maybe you need to learn more about Mercedes so you can understand."

Kurt grudgingly nodded. "Well done, Finn. He's absolutely right, Sam. And," Kurt rose, collecting the empty bottles of water from the table, "I've got just the thing in my room. I'll be right back."

When Kurt was gone, Sam asked Finn "Rachel made you read to date her?"

Finn laughed softly. "Yeah, it was kinda weird at first, but she's got one black dad and one Jewish one, so she thought it would 'build avenues of communication' between us." Finn grabbed a handful of chips and offered the bag to Sam, who politely refused. "I don't know if it helped me understand her better, but it did give me something to talk about with her dads."

"I don't think Mrs. Jones wants to talk to me at all, but her dad's usually pretty nice." Sam finished his bottle of water and tried not to think too much about Mercedes' parents. Ever since he and Mercedes' had sex that first time, he'd been waiting for them to find out and to forbid him to see her again.

"Ms. Irene's always been nice to me," said Finn, "and she loves Kurt."

"That's 'cause you're not dating her daughter," grumbled Sam. He pulled a bottle of water out of the cooler and tossed it to Finn, then got another for himself. "So, what do you think Beiste has planned for practice this week?"

They talked about their summer workout schedule and the upcoming football season for a few minutes, carefully skirting the issue of tryouts and competition for the quarterback spot. When Kurt returned, they were reminiscing over the team's state championship win.

Kurt put a black canvas tote bag and a stack of books and dvds on the table in front of Sam. "It's not much, but I think it'll be a good start."

Sam looked at the DVDs first—_Dreamgirls_. _The Color Purple_. He and Mercedes had already seen the first one, the musical almost a rite of passage for anyone who was going to be her friend much less her boyfriend. He handed it back to Kurt. "Already seen this one."

Kurt took the dvd and laughed. "First movie date?" Sam smiled and nodded, then picked up one of the books and read off the title.

"_for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf_." He flipped through the pages. "Is this a poem? Her spelling is as bad as mine." He looked up at Kurt, who was shaking his head, his eyes squinched up in pain. "Yes, Sam, it's a poem. And a play. And a dance." Kurt covered his eyes with his hand and was silent for a moment, then gasped with delight and ran into the house.

Sam looked over at Finn who shook his head and said "Man, I have no idea." Sam continued to flip through the slim book. He might be able to read this in a week, but as he started reading the first few lines, he could see that this play might prove more of a challenge to his dyslexia than other things he'd read. He was going to have to ask Kurt for some help.

Kurt came out of the house with his cellphone and sat at the table. "Tell me you're free tomorrow night."

Sam shook his head. "I'm supposed to work. I could probably switch shifts with someone. Why?"

"Switch shifts. I've just sent out an S.O.S. to our mutual friends, 3 of whom have already said they can come. We," he shot a smile at Finn "are going to put on a play."

Sam's confusion registered clearly on his face, so Kurt clarified. "Actually, we're going to read the play. Together. A group of us. Rachel, Tina, and Blaine are on board, and I'm sure Lauren will be too once she gets the message. Britt and Satan are at cheerleading camp, so they're out. I'll ask Carole if she's interested." Kurt reached out his hand for the book, which Sam passed over to him. He flipped to the beginning. "Seven women," he murmured, then counted out the names of the confirmed on his fingers. Five. Kurt looked over at Finn, an eyebrow raised in question.

Finn's brow furrowed, his eyes darting back and forth across the landscape of the table until realization dawned on him. "Why me? What about Sam? Or, heck, Mercedes?"

Kurt shook his head. "Sam has to watch and listen, and I think he needs to do that on his own."

Sam took the book back from Kurt. "Kurt's right," he said. "Mercy said she had some things to think about; I guess I'm realizing that I've got stuff to think about too."

Finn opened his mouth to protest—he liked spending time with Sam, but that was usually shooting baskets or shooting down fighter planes—but a raised eyebrow from Kurt was enough to change his response. "Sure man. Whatever we can do to help."

Sam eyed the pile skeptically. He wasn't entirely sure how this would help, but he trusted Kurt and even Finn in this case. He nodded. "Thanks, guys."

###

"I just want to beeee your lovergirl-ooo-url.

I just want to rock your wo-er-erld!

Hey yeah hey hey hey yeah hey hey!"

Mercedes tried not to laugh. Irene was about to snip a thread on the last track in her weave, and they had come too far for her mother to slip up and cut her natural hair right now. It was so hard to control the laugh, though, what with the way Irene alternated between singing and dancing around with her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth. Mercedes bit down really hard on her lip and gripped her knit pajama pants. She tried to concentrate on the song, this old Teena Marie jam that Irene had been listening to non-stop for the last few days in the boutique. When Irene got an earworm, she got it bad, and while Mercedes couldn't deny that the songs were catchy, some of the rap work was a bit ridiculous. Still, it was great to see her mom having so much fun.

The scissors went "snip!" and Mercedes finally let out a chuckle as her mother exchanged them for the seam ripper on the bathroom counter. Their eyes met in the mirror, and as Mercedes tried to rein in her giggles, Irene started singing along again with the song. She put her hands on her daughter's shoulder and leaned in so that their faces were next to each other. When Irene started swaying the two of them back and forth, Mercedes finally gave in to laughter, then started to clap her hands and sing along.

"You two are making entirely too much noise."

Irene and Mercedes could see Quentin's reflection in the mirror. He had a book in his hand and his reading glasses on. Irene walked over to the doorway and took the book from him, using her finger to mark his place as she looked at the cover, then showed it to Mercedes.

Mercedes was incredulous. "_Handbook of Clinical Dentistry_? On a Friday night?" She looked her dad in the eye; he quickly averted his gaze, and the women's laughter was soon matched by Quentin's. Mercedes was gasping for breath now, but she finally got control enough to say "Dad, just give us about 15 more minutes, and then you can finish watching your thriller or golf match or whatever it is you're actually doing."

Irene gave Quentin his book, patted his chest and gave him a kiss. He made a bit of a grunt as Irene danced back over to Mercedes' chair and resumed singing, then threw his hands up, closed the door, and left when she cranked up the volume on the speakers. Irene chuckled as she picked up the seam ripper and went back to work on Mercedes' hair. "He's just mad 'cause I'm not singing this song to him."

Mercedes' eyes grew wide; her parents were affectionate in her presence, but they rarely spoke about their history.

Irene poked Mercedes in the shoulder. "Don't look so surprised; you kids act like you invented love. I remember what it was like to be everything to my everything." Her voice and eyes grew soft as she gently pulled the thread from Mercedes' braids. "I do like Sam," she said "and I like that you feel good enough about yourself and him to want to do this" she gestured to the tracks of hair she'd painstakingly removed. "Just be sure that it's you he's looking at, you he's seeing."

Mercedes looked at the pile of hair on the counter to her right. She didn't know how Sam would react when he saw her, but there was nothing he could say that would make her regret this decision. Sam might be the immediate reason for the change, but the change had been coming on for a while.

Irene was troubled by her daughter's silence. "Sorry, baby. I shouldn't project my issues onto you." She finished removing the final track, then started to take out the braid.

"It's OK, mom. I'm not doing this for Sam." Mercedes smiled at her mom's reflection in the mirror, and when Irene placed a hand on her shoulder, Mercedes covered it with her own without hesitation. "This is all for me."

###

On Saturday morning, Sam stood at the Jones' front door. He and Mercedes had only spoken once, on Tuesday, and while he'd been thrilled to hear her voice after three days of no contact, he'd been nervous too. The play reading on Monday had gone really well, and he'd been re-reading it on his own whenever he got a spare moment, which was usually after the kids had gone to bed. It was hot even after sundown, so he'd been sitting on the small porch outside their room in the evenings with a glass of ice water and Kurt's copy of the play. He always covered the title when his dad came around, but his mom had seen it in his backpack one morning as she packed his lunch, so he'd been talking to her a bit about it—and about things with Mercedes—as well. She hadn't had any advice to give him about Mercedes, except to say that every person's story deserved to be told and heard, which seemed like pretty good advice.

It had been a tough week for Sam. He felt lots of things—sadness, anger, joy, frustration—but mostly he'd just been missing Mercedes, missing her voice and her kisses and her heart. He didn't want a repeat of a week without her, so as he stood on the steps, Kurt's copy of _for colored girls_ next to the sketchpad in his backpack and his hand hovering over the door knocker, he resolved to listen to anything she had to say.

"Door's not going to open itself, son."

Sam jumped at the sound of Quentin Jones' voice, then took a deep breath to steady himself. "Sorry, sir. Just about to knock."

Quentin patted Sam's shoulder, then reached for the door handle. "It's OK, Sam. Sorry if I startled you. Was just out for a walk before I head to the clinic." He pushed the door open and motioned Sam inside, then reached in to grab his car keys from the small table by the front door. "Reenie? Mercy? Sam's here!" Quentin Jones' voice boomed through the house, and Sam stood in the foyer, unsure of what he should do next. Quentin stood in the open doorway, keys in one hand and the other on the doorknob. "Sam? You OK, son, or have you been spending too much time out in the sun at that pool?"

Sam shook his head and stammered. "I'm OK, sir, just—" he wondered where Mercy was and why everything felt so weird this morning. "Just got a lot on my mind."

Quentin grunted and pointed down the hall toward the kitchen. "Breakfast's on the counter; you might as well just help yourself. No telling what those two are up to this morning." He started to head outside, then turned back to face Sam. "Word of warning: Mercy's been really grumpy this week. I'd tread cautiously if I were you."

Sam wasn't sure if he was supposed to be worried about incurring Mercedes' wrath or her father's, and Quentin Jones wasn't giving anything away. Sam quickly nodded his agreement and finally exhaled when Mercedes' dad finally closed the door and headed to his car. Sam walked back to the kitchen where he found a stack of fluffy pancakes and his favorite maple syrup. Mercedes couldn't be too mad at him. He served himself, sat at the table, and pulled the book from his backpack. He might as well read while he waited.

"Morning, Sam."

Sam made to stand when he saw Irene in the doorway, then sat again as she shook her head and motioned for him to sit down. "Good morning, Mrs. Jones."

Irene walked to the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee before joining Sam at the table. "I take it Quentin's headed out?"

Sam nodded. "Yes ma'am, just a few minutes ago."

Irene took a sip of her coffee. "Good. He was gone so long on his walk, I was worried he'd be late." She glanced at Sam, who was sort of staring at his half-eaten breakfast. "Are the pancakes OK?"

Sam gulped. "Yes, ma'am, they're awesome."

"Must be, since you're saving them up." Irene laughed at the flustered expression on Sam's face. "What's got you so jumpy this morning?"

Sam shook his head and picked up his fork. "Nothing, ma'am, just—" His eyes fell on the book at precisely the same moment Irene noticed it. He watched as she reached toward it, then stopped herself to address him.

"May I?" she asked, and Sam nodded and handed the book to her.

Irene turned the small paperback over in her hands, then set it on the table and flipped through the pages. "I think I was your age when I first read this," she said. "Gave a copy to Mercedes on her sixteenth birthday." She put the book back down on the table, sat back in her chair, and looked at Sam, who was now staring at his half-eaten breakfast as though it was his last meal. "I must say I'm a bit surprised that you've found your way to it."

Sam looked up at Irene; she seemed curious, not angry. "Kurt—well, Kurt and Finn, sorta—thought it might be a good idea for me to read it."

The look of surprise on Irene's face told Sam that she hadn't expected that answer. "Kurt I can see, but Finn?" she said slowly. She was about to say something else, but they could both hear Mercedes coming down the stairs, so she patted his hand and smiled. "We should talk sometime," she said cryptically, then rose to refill her coffee.

Mercedes walked over to Sam and kissed his cheek, then walked over to the fridge to get a fresh glass of water. When she got back to the table, she sat down and took Sam's hand. "Thanks for being so patient this week," she said, her thumb brushing Sam's palm. "I missed you."

Sam hadn't taken his eyes off of her since she'd entered the room. He smiled at her, wanting desperately to run his fingers through the curls framing her beautiful face, but settled for squeezing her hand. "It's OK. I missed you too." He raised her hand and kissed it. "Kurt and Finn kept me pretty busy, though." He nodded toward the book that Irene had left on the table. Mercedes frowned as she picked it up.

"Since when does Kurt read African American lit? For that matter," she gave him a conspiratorial wink "since when does Finn read at all? And," she continued, "I thought you were strictly a comic book sort of guy for non-school reading?"

Sam chuckled with her, then stared at their joined hands for a moment before raising his eyes to meet hers. "I just want you to know that I'm willing to listen. Whatever you want to tell me, Mercy, whatever you want to talk about, we can talk about it. I love you. All of you. OK?"

Mercedes bit at her lip and worked very hard to hold back the tears that were pricking at her eyes. She nodded quickly, then leaned forward to kiss Sam and whisper "OK. And thank you."

Sam placed his hand at the back of her neck and held her there, their foreheads touching, their noses inches apart. They stayed this way until Irene, who'd been a forgotten witness to the entire exchange, cleared her throat. "I guess I'd better get to the shop. What are you two kids up to this morning?"

"Nothing" they both said, a bit too quickly, and Irene promised herself that she and Mercedes were going to revisit the conversation they'd had about birth control the year before. She walked over to the table and stroked her daughter's curls. "You look beautiful, baby," she said before she leaned down to half-whisper in Mercedes' ear "and you deserve every ounce of respect the world has to give you." Irene then turned to Sam, whose eyes were wide as saucers. She shook her head and laughed, clapping him on the shoulder as she headed out to the garage to get her car.

Sam relaxed and groaned. "Your mom hates me."

Mercedes patted his hand. "No, she doesn't." She stood and walked over to the counter to serve herself a plate of pancakes. "She just wants to make sure I'm safe." She flinched and then relaxed as she felt Sam wrap his arms around her waist. He kissed her neck and then rested his chin on the top of her head. She wondered what he thought of her now, how she looked to him.

"You look beautiful," he whispered. "May I?"

Mercedes held her breath and nodded, realizing that this might be a moment more intimate and sacred for her than even sex with him had been, if that was possible. He took his right hand from her waist and kissed the top of her head as his fingers toyed with the soft brown curls at the nape of her neck. She relaxed into him, her hands resting on the counter, breakfast forgotten as he touched and stroked her hair and the soft skin of her neck and shoulder. She could feel his arousal pressing at her back, and when his raised his left hand to her hair and moved his right hand over her stomach and between her legs, she prayed that her mother hadn't forgotten anything, that nothing would interrupt what was about to happen in Irene Jones' kitchen. Breakfast would just have to wait.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own none of Glee, but I manage to find joy all the same.

* * *

><p>Chapter 5: We Must Get Down to Earth at Times<p>

_In which summer is over._

"Perfect game, son."

Sam took the hand his father extended, then grinned as he was pulled in for a big hug. It had been a perfect game—well, perfect scrimmage, to be absolutely correct. Coach Beiste, never one to look a gift horse in the ass, had opted for a two-quarterback system, capitalizing on Finn's arm and Sam's feet. They'd forged a friendly sort of partnership, and Sam was hopeful that this exhibition game was just the first of many that could impress recruiters.

His father released him, and Sam received the enthusiastic hugs from his siblings and the happy—but relieved—one from his mom, who loved to see him happy but hated to see him hurting.

There was one more person to hug, and Sam sought her face while he hugged his mother. Mercedes was hovering in the background, her hand idly stroking Stacy's hair while she watched Stevie re-enacting Sam's game-winning touchdown. He couldn't think of a more perfect moment than this one. And then she looked over, caught his eye, and smiled at him.

"Sam?" His dad's voice was gruff, but quiet, as he tapped his shoulder. Sam turned to face his father, who was pulling money from his wallet. Sam's face scrunched up in confusion as his father handed him twenty dollars. "Why don't you take your girl out for ice cream? Celebrate."

Sam shook his head. "Dad, we can't—"

His father pressed the money into his hands. "Yes, son. We can, and you will."

They stared at each other for a moment, the father who desperately wanted his son to have something normal to hold onto, the son aching for his youth but old enough to understand the sacrifice that was in his hand.

"Dwight?" Mary Evans' voice broke the silence between them. "We really need to get the kids to bed." The children groaned, and Mercedes laughed as first Mary, then Dwight, and finally Sam looked toward the two whiners with stern, but loving, looks. Stevie rolled his eyes and Stacy hugged Mercedes' waist.

"Home by midnight? We need to have our family meeting first thing tomorrow morning," Dwight said, and Sam was puzzled, but nodded and stuffed the crumpled bill into his pocket.

"Thanks, Dad." Sam crouched down and hugged his siblings goodnight. "See you guys in the morning," he said, then rose to give his mom a gentle hug and kiss on the cheek. She smiled up at him and smoothed his hair, then turned to join the family as they made their way toward the parking lot.

Mercedes was leaning against the railing that separated the stands from the field, her black jacket framing the WMHS t-shirt she'd worn just for the occasion. Sam walked over to her, blind to the eyes of other players still chattering about the game; her arms were open to him, and he wasted no time entering her embrace and kissing her.

"My baby's a football star," Mercedes murmured as Sam peppered her cheek, jaw, and the nape of her neck with kisses.

Sam chuckled as he raised his head to look into her eyes. "I've got to be if I'm going to be worthy of all this"—his hands gripped her hips—"fierceness." He kissed her again, groaning as her hands stroked his hair.

"Get a room!" yelled Azimio as he walked past them.

They laughed and broke apart slowly, Sam resting his forehead on Mercedes'. "What do you say? Where should we go?"

Mercedes lightly raked her nails at the nape of Sam's neck and smiled as his breath grew heavy on her cheek. "My parents are at a conference this weekend, remember?"

Sam's eyes grew wide, as did his grin, and he dipped his head for a quick kiss, then grabbed Mercedes' hand and pulled her toward the parking lot. "Do you mind if we stop at the grocery store on the way to your house? I've got an idea."

###

Mercedes was certain this wasn't what Sam's dad had in mind when he'd handed his son the money, but that wasn't important now. What was important was what Sam had been doing with his mouth as he'd worked his way down the trail of white chocolate chips he'd placed on her body and what he was going to do now that his tongue and lips were making the return journey. His cock slid into her as he kissed her, her arms and legs wrapped around him, and Mercedes reveled in the taste of herself mingled with the chocolate Sam had eaten off her skin. She'd already come once as he'd tasted her so she was more than ready to come again—and again—as Sam began pushing into her with greater speed and force, his eyes piercing hers, his whispered love tokens reminding her that she was beautiful and sexy and beloved and so forever _his_ that she wanted nothing more than to be loved in just this way and in just this moment forever.

When the moment had passed—when Sam slowly withdrew from her and rested his head on her bosom, when her fingers raked through his hair and his drew lazy patterns on the soft skin of her belly—she smiled and whispered "Thank you for loving me."

Sam's fingers were still. "You're welcome?" he said tentatively, then rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his left hand. He reached his right hand up to stroke her cheek. "I can't imagine not loving you."

A tear escaped her eyes, and Sam gently brushed it away before sitting up and drawing her into his arms. "Mercy, what's wrong?"

Mercedes shook her head quickly and swallowed hard. _What's gotten into you?_ she thought. _Hold it together._ "Nothing, nothing's wrong. It's just," she traced her fingers over the smooth skin of his hip "I guess I just felt overwhelmed, like it's so much bigger than I thought it could be."

Sam snorted and Mercedes pinched his skin. "That's not what I meant!"

Sam laughed and playfully thrust his crotch toward her. "I know, baby, I know." His laughs gave way to silence as he pulled her closer. "Sometimes I think I can't breathe from loving you." He kissed the top of her head, drew a blanket over their naked bodies, and stroked her back as they lay and enjoyed the stillness and the feel and the weight of each other.

They fell asleep this way, and so it was fortunate that Mercedes had set an alarm. It blared at them, startling them from their slumber. Sam groaned.

"Better get used to it," Mercedes sighed. "School starts Monday." She leaned up to kiss Sam, then giggled as she worked to escape the hands stroking her nipples to attention. "We don't have time, baby." Still, she straddled him, her pussy hot and wet over his hard cock, and Sam wasted no time pulling her onto it while sucking her nipple into his mouth. She groaned and rode him quickly, her fingers reaching down to speed her own pleasure until Sam, eager but also mindful of the time, toppled them sideways and pulled himself from her as she moved to kneel for him. He gripped her hips as he entered her again, his thighs slapping the backs of hers. He felt the orgasm building, and his fingers slipped between her legs to rub her clit until she was mewling and calling his name, loving him with her body and her words, pulsing around him, drawing him to his own finish. They collapsed, panting, legs and arms entwined as they kissed gently and giggled.

Mercedes glanced at the clock on her wall. "You've got 10 minutes to get home." She laughed as Sam shot up off the bed and began pulling on his clothes. She walked to her closet and put on her robe, then leaned against the doorframe, watching as Sam tied his shoes and grabbed his plaid shirt and the bag of breakfast treats he'd bought for his family with some of the money his father had given him. She smiled thinking that this bag—with its box of Pop Tarts and coffee cake—represented so much of what she loved about him. She followed him down the stairs and to the front door, then pulled him in for a lingering kiss goodnight.

"Mercy," Sam groaned "I have to go!"

She laughed. "You have 10 minutes to get home," she said, then, as she smiled at the confused look on Sam's face, "That clock's 10 minutes fast." She winked at him, then squealed as he kissed her and pinched her bottom before running to his truck. "Be careful," she called.

"Always," he said. He opened the door and climbed in. "I'll call you tomorrow afternoon?"

She nodded, they exchanged I love you's and then he was gone. Mercedes shut up the house before getting a glass of water and returning to her room. After she put on her pajamas, she grabbed the novel she'd been reading and a handful of chips from the bag Sam had left on the bedside table.

###

"I don't know what I want to be when I grow up."

Emma Pillsbury looked up from her pamphlet sorting to see a panic-stricken Finn Hudson standing in her office door. She pursed her lips, nodded, and motioned for him to come in and take a seat. He watched as she finished her task, her small hands quickly neatening the already-neat piles and then slipping them into the open slots in the plastic organizer she kept near her chair. When she was finished, she called up his advising record on her office computer. She nodded, quietly saying "I see". She rested her clasped hands on her desk.

"You haven't taken any of the career aptitude tests, Finn, and you haven't taken any of the college admissions tests either. Your grade point average is decent, but not stellar, and I'm not sure what your athletic prospects are, even with Coach Beiste and last year's state championship under your belt."

Finn stared at the worn denim stretch across his knee. "So, what you're saying is that I haven't got a chance at college."

"No, no, not at all!" Emma's mouth formed a frantic "o" and her hands fluttered a bit before she calmly returned them to the pristine desktop. "I just meant that you're a bit behind some of your classmates in discerning your future plans." She watched as Finn tightened his lips and studied the carpet on her office floor. "Finn?" When he looked up, she gave him a small smile, her eyes as brightly hopeful as she could muster. "It'll be OK. We'll figure it out. We just need to make an effort." When he finally gave her a nod, she swiveled in her chair and pulled a pamphlet from the plastic display cases. "We just have to figure out what you really enjoy, you know, what makes you excited about getting out of bed in the morning."

"Like pop tarts?" Finn asked, and Miss Pillsbury's eyes grew wide as she prepared to respond.

"Yes, I suppose easy to prepare pre-packaged breakfast foods can make the morning routine a bit less stressful, but I was really thinking more about finding your purpose, you know, something that makes living worthwhile." She offered him the pamphlet just as the bell rang to signal the next period. She furrowed her brow, then asked "You have Glee Club this period?" Finn nodded, and she walked over to the filing cabinets along the wall. "Great. Would you mind taking these to Sam and Mercedes for me?" She handed him two identical sets of college brochures, neatly arranged from smallest to largest and held together by perfectly tied pieces of string. Finn stood and tucked them under his arm like a football, and Emma tersely smiled as she watched the slick brochures slip and slide in the string.

"Come back to see me in a couple of days, Finn, after you've thought some more about it."

"I will. Thanks, Miss Pillsbury." Finn turned to leave the office, then stopped as he reached the door and turned back to Emma. "What we talk about here, it's secret, right? Like that doctor lawyer privacy thing?"

"Well, um—" Emma was unsure of how to respond. "Why do you ask?"

Finn's face went a bit red. "It's—" he paused—"Rachel. She and I talk about this stuff, and she has big plans, but I'm just not sure yet where I fit in to them. I don't want to freak her out or anything till I know what I want to do."

Emma nodded. "Your secret's safe with me."

As he walked toward the choir room, Finn looked at the pamphlet Miss Pillsbury had given him. He raised an eyebrow at the image of the happy graduate hoisting a diploma in the air, then grinned and nodded as he read the text above the graduate's head. COMMUNITY COLLEGE: It's Like High School with Beer!

###

Sam and Mercedes were already in the choir room when he arrived—along with Tina, Mike, Puck, and Quinn—so Finn handed them their packets and took a seat on the first row. He puzzled over their reactions. Sam had looked confused, and Mercedes' mouth had tightened at the sight of the glossy brochures. They'd started whispering almost as soon as he'd sat down, but he couldn't really hear them since Rachel and Kurt had walked in at the same time, their excited conversation about colleges and their future plans drowning out any other sound in the room.

A few minutes later, Mr. Schuester stood before them, welcoming them to a new year of Glee Club with the revelation that, once again, they needed to recruit new members. Everyone looked over at Puck, who seemed more annoyed than upset that Lauren had elected to leave the group, but Finn could see Mr. Schue nodding sadly toward the back of the room. In a moment, Sam was standing next to him, his jaw set tight as Mr. Schue said that Sam had something to tell them.

"My family's moving. To Kentucky. This weekend."

Finn felt the shift in the air in the room, the roaring noise that comes with too much silence, the hollowness that follows when talk starts again as questions begin. Sam's answers were clipped and short. His father had gotten a great opportunity. He was going to enroll in a high school there. No, he hadn't told Coach Bieste yet, he hadn't told anyone else, they were the first, they were like family.

Finn's arm was hurting. He looked down to see Rachel's hand grasping it tightly, then looked back at Sam, who was staring at a point over Finn's head, a point Finn was sure corresponded with Mercedes' location in the room. Sam pursed his lips, moving them together so tightly that the color was gone, and he swallowed hard to keep the tears at bay. Everyone was quiet for a moment, everyone stared at Sam and his pain as Sam stared at Mercedes in hers and Finn, for a fleeting second, thought he could understand exactly what held them together.

Three burly students wheeled in three purple pianos, and Sam took the opportunity presented by the interruption to leave the room. Mercedes followed him, her eyes fixed on the ground before her. Mr. Schue nervously started talking about recruiting again until Tina interrupted and suggested they think of ways to help Sam's family with their move. When class was over, Finn noticed the college brochures on the floor under the chairs Sam and Mercedes had been sitting in. He put them in his knapsack for safekeeping, then headed to the locker room. It was time for football practice.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry this took so long! When I heard that Overstreet was returning, I decided to wait a bit to see how things would play out before I sent these kiddos back to McKinley. For now, I'm going to work with the canon in a loose sense (no Shane, though, cause I don't want to create a whole character that I'll have to off later, and the writers clearly refused to help out there because they didn't really write a character either), but the story is, as it always was, AU.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own none of Glee, but I manage to find joy all the same.

* * *

><p>Chapter 6: Mr. Einstein's Theory<p>

_In which perspective is relatively important._

"At least you guys have Blaine now. That's gotta help with recruiting, right? Well, except for that whole burning piano thing."

Sam and Finn were in the locker room showers. Weight training—Sam's last—was over, and they'd both sorta hung around till everyone was gone and they could talk.

"Yeah." Finn's voice was dull. "Whatever."

Sam finished his shower and grabbed his towel. "Don't sound so enthusiastic. I mean, it's not like he can sing or anything. Oh, wait—"

Finn looked surprised at Sam's response and then nodded his head grudgingly. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Blaine's a great singer and performer." He shut off the tap and started to towel off. "Couldn't ignore that if you tried."

Sam pursed his lips, the corners of his mouth turning up into a slight smile. "That's what this is about? Blaine taking the spotlight?"

Finn wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower. "It's not that. He's just—" he searched for the words. "He's a ball hog, you know?"

Sam was silent for a moment, then burst into laughter.

"What's so funny?"

"Blaine is a ball hog? Who are you dating again?" Sam pulled on his jeans and reached for his t-shirt.

"Well, she's—"

"She's great, Finn. She really is. Rachel Berry is going to be a star." Sam started packing the stuff in his locker into his gym bag. "And she's your woman, so of course you're going to take up for her. But don't forget—" Sam looked over at Finn—"you're supposed to be a leader for this team, too, not just Rachel's cheerleader. If Blaine brings star power to the table—"

Finn sat on the bench opposite Sam. "—we need to use that to our advantage. I know." Finn looked down at his feet, then wished he hadn't. Coach Beiste had been riding them pretty hard about cleanliness lately, and who knows what foot fungi were lurking on the locker room floor. He shook his head. "I don't know what it is, Sam, but something about Blaine just bugs me."

Sam tucked the last item in the bag and zipped it shut. "If we figure this out, we'll be halfway to solving this mystery," he said, then, as he took in the confused look on Finn's face, he added "Fred? _Scooby Doo_? Man, I've spent too much time with those meddling kids." He picked up the bag. "Look. All I know is, you're a leader for this group, and if we're"—he realized what he'd done and corrected himself—"y'all are going to win at Nationals this year, you've got to use every advantage you have."

Finn begrudgingly nodded at Sam, then rose to get dressed. "Bring your guitar to the party tonight?" he asked. Mercedes and her parents were having a small goodbye party for the Evans family, and the club members were hoping to sing together one last time.

"Yeah. I will," Sam said as he pushed open the door. He stopped. "Finn, can I ask you a favor?"

"Sure, man. Anything."

"Watch out for her. I mean, not that she needs anybody to look out for her, but—"

Finn and Sam locked eyes. Though he was trying to hide it, Finn knew how much this was costing Sam—leaving football, Glee Club, Mercedes—and he wanted to do what he could to help him.

"Mercedes is tough—" Finn began, then realized that wasn't what Sam needed from him right now. "I'll do my best to be there for her, you know, if she needs it."

Sam nodded, a terse smile on his face. "Thanks." He walked out the door, calling behind him "I expect you guys to be 7-0 when I come to visit at Thanksgiving."

###

Stacy and Stevie settled down about 60 miles out of Lima. Their chatter and enthusiasm for the adventure they were now embarking on had kept Sam distracted for the first hour or so, but now the silence in the car was a welcome companion. Three hours of quiet highway stretched out before him, and Sam intended to make the most of them.

As Stacy and Stevie slept in the backseat, Sam kept his eyes on the road and on the truck his father and mother were in, a small trailer hitched to the back containing their remaining belongings. The trailer was as good a place as any to start. Sam needed to count his blessings.

The trailer had been parked in the driveway at the Jones' when his family arrived for the party, the rental fee a gift from Mercedes' parents. It was just the start of a night full of love; his glee club family had come through in so many ways. Carole had packed two separate baskets, one for each vehicle, each loaded with snacks, drinks, and gift cards for fuel stops. Burt had provided the car Sam was currently driving; it was old, but sturdy, and having two cars would make it easier for his mom to travel the area they were moving to as she searched for a job. He didn't know Kurt and Finn's parents well—he'd always hoped to know them better—but he knew that they were the best sort of people he'd ever meet.

Tina, Mike, and Artie pooled their resources—and spare tech—to build him a computer desktop, and Kurt had gladly parted with his old monitor, keyboard, and webcam as it gave him a reason to splurge on newer gear. Sam wasn't sure when—or if—he'd have internet access at home, but he appreciated the gesture and knew that he'd at least be able to use the machine for his homework assignments. Santana and Brittany had given him a small iPod, pre-loaded with Brittany's favorites and a special extended play version of "Trouty Mouth" ("To remember me by," Santana had smirked); Mercedes had smiled at Britt's playlist, remarking that the kids were going to love it. She and Sam spent a precious two hours later that evening poring over her music collection to put together a playlist he'd probably appreciate more, and—

Nope. Not ready to dwell on that just yet.

The trailer held the few boxes of clothing and household items they still owned, plus some toys and family mementos his mother had insisted they keep. It also held what Sam imagined was a year's supply of toilet paper and paper towels, a special gift from Puck, who, when pressed by Finn, had insisted he'd actually procured it through legitimate means. Miss Pillsbury had given them a box filled with school supplies, and Mr. Schue gave Sam guitar strings, picks, and a gift card to an online music store where he could order sheet music.

It had been harder than he thought to say goodbye to Coach Bieste. She'd gone a bit misty and sniffled, then hugged him so hard he thought she'd break his ribs. Sam knew that she and the team were going to have to scramble to prepare for the season without him now, but Finn had been QB for most of the previous year, so he knew that he wouldn't be missed, not as much as he'd maybe like to be.

Rachel had given him a plaid gift bag filled with lip chap, which he'd thought was weird, but when he'd emptied it, he discovered a small envelope containing a note and a gift card. "Don't forget that you need the music" was what she'd written on the card, and she and Finn had signed it.

Finn. Sam hadn't really expected to be so sad to be leaving Finn, but he was. After the way things had gone down with Quinn, Sam was sure that he and Finn would always be enemies, but time and circumstance had changed things. Over time he'd grown to see that he, Finn, and Quinn were all confused about what, exactly, they were looking for, and while he was never going to forget what had happened, he'd long ago found it in his heart to forgive. Over the summer he and Finn had spent more time together working out and working on strategies and plays, and during that time he'd grown to respect Finn as a leader, and, after a fashion, as a friend. He'd been looking forward to getting to know him better and building on the better ground they'd discovered, but he'd have to content himself with knowing that Finn had promised to watch out for Mercy.

His lips tightened as he gripped the steering wheel. Better to think about Quinn, Quinn who had gone from being a lousy and mixed-up girlfriend to a surprisingly good friend. He could see now why she and Mercedes had been close; Quinn appreciated straight talk as much as Mercy did, and she'd given him plenty when she dropped by the motel before he left, her fingers nervously flicking the ash on her burning cigarette. "Don't screw her around with any long-distance bullshit if you don't mean it," she'd said as she tossed the butt on the ground and stomped it out with the toe of her black leather boot before giving him a big hug. She'd given him a small scrapbook with pictures of his friends and lots of pictures she'd taken of Mercedes during the time she'd stayed with the Jones family.

Sam flipped open the small red leather scrapbook on the passenger seat. He couldn't put it off forever. He checked the road to make sure the way before him was straight and clear, then he quickly glanced at the picture of Mercedes he'd opened the book to before returning his eyes to the road. He kept the image in his mind, Mercedes holding her hand to block Quinn's camera as she laughed and looked away. The girl who just wanted to be seen trying to hide herself away. He smiled and nodded, then took a deep breath as he felt the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Thanksgiving" he whispered, a reminder that he'd be seeing her again soon—but not soon enough—and for that he was grateful.

###

Exactly one hour after she'd hugged and kissed Sam and his family goodbye, Mercedes was sitting in a chair at Sharla's Beauty Shop. She'd be there for most of the morning, which was exactly what she needed. New hair, new look—anything to help take her mind off of the highway, wheels headed south, maps…

Mercedes bit the inside of her cheek, willing herself to pay attention to the work that Sharla's assistant was doing. She was having her weave installed again. Her mother had silently nodded when Mercedes told her where she was going, and Mercedes knew that it was just a matter of time before the two of them had a talk about this latest development, but right now, all Mercedes could see was Monday and McKinley without Sam.

This was no good. She put in her earbuds, found the Spanish language lessons she'd loaded onto her iPhone, and pressed play. Now was a good time—maybe the best time—to focus on building her skills for the singing career she felt destined to have, and she'd be damned if she was going to miss out on the potential to be a crossover hit to what her dad insisted was the fastest growing demographic group in the U.S.

_Not that it really matters right this moment_, she though bitterly. They'd been back at school for what, 2 weeks, and already Rachel was angling to take every possible moment to shine, going so far as to anoint herself star of the school musical before Mr. Schue had even agreed to stage it.

While the instructor droned on about letter sounds and their proper pronunciation, a bored Mercedes scrolled through her albums until she found the _West Side Story_ soundtrack. _Need to get ready for those auditions,_ she thought, and as Sharla worked on her hair, she listened to the tracks, noting the ranges of the songs she'd need to master, filling in the narrative to connect the music to the musical's emotional core. When she got to "Somewhere," though, she found she couldn't go on, not without thinking about Sam, which would mean breaking down in tears in front of Sharla and everyone at the shop. That song would just have to wait.

After her appointment, she headed over to the boutique and worked on some alterations for a wedding party until it was time for supper. Sam had texted her shortly after lunch to let her know they'd made it to Kentucky safely and that they had a place to stay; they'd agreed to wait to speak to each other for a couple of days to give them both a chance to settle in to the move, and Mercedes, though she missed him horribly, was glad for the time to adjust. She pulled up _Law & Order _on Netflix—a bit of Sam-free background noise—and lost herself in hems, darts, and the criminal justice system for a few hours.

On the drive home from the boutique she listened to the Spanish lessons, trying her best to get the perfect inflection. When she got home, she put the earbuds back in, effectively shutting out the inevitable questions and comments—all from a place of love and concern—from her parents as she walked up the stairs to her room. Once inside, she connected her phone to the speaker set, went back to the musical playlist, and lay back on her bed to listen to "Somewhere" and have a good cry.

_They'd been putting together a playlist for Sam's new iPod when he asked what she was going to sing for her audition. Mercedes had laughed and said "'Somewhere'? What else? Rachel sang 'I Feel Pretty' in Glee Club last year, so I need to make sure I stand out." _

_Sam had searched her iTunes library, and, finding the karaoke version of the song he knew she'd have already downloaded, queued it up and taken her hand. "Sing it for me?"_

_She'd smiled and nodded, and Sam had enjoyed every note, right up until the song's lyrics proved too close for either of their comfort, and then it was almost too much agony to endure. He'd been amazed, though, that she'd finished it, her voice never wavering, her eyes filled with unshed tears but not once leaving his. _

_When she was done, they'd made love silently; her parents had gone over with Burt and Carole to help the Evans' finish packing, so they weren't in danger of getting caught, but words really hadn't been necessary when their bodies were so much more capable of saying what needed to be said. Afterward, Sam had brought a purple Sharpie and her desk calendar over to the bed where she lay, and they'd worked backward from Thanksgiving, counting the days until they'd see each other again._

The song over, Mercedes sat up and looked at the calendar. The bright purple on today's square read "82". She took a deep breath and got ready for bed. "82 days," she mumbled to herself as she turned out the light and pulled up the covers. She looked over at the picture she kept on her bedside table, a framed copy of a drawing Sam had done of the two of them one Saturday morning. He'd made her sit cross-legged on the floor next to him as he drew from their reflection in the mirror she had mounted on her closet door. "Soon," she whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own none of Glee, but I manage to find joy all the same.

* * *

><p>Chapter 7: A Fight for Love and Glory<p>

_In which Sam fights for his girl, Mercedes fights for her stage, and Finn fights his…sorry, but he's not quite ready to talk about that yet._

###

"What the hell happened, Finn?"

Finn recoiled at the sound of Sam's voice on the phone. He figured Sam would be calling him eventually, but he hadn't expected word to get back to him quite this soon.

"She couldn't—no, she wouldn't do the move, Sam."

"What move?"

"The Widowmaker."

"Seriously? Schue kicked her out of New Directions over the fucking Widowmaker?"

Finn could hear Sam unpacking his backpack, the sound of heavy textbooks hitting a wooden desk. "We all had to do it. It wasn't about the move, Sam, it was about the team."

Sam was sarcastic. "Can Rachel do the Widowmaker?"

"Well, I, uh—" Finn stammered. Why was Sam so pissed?

"Can she do it, Finn? Does Rachel make widows?"

Finn shook his head. "I guess so, I mean, I've never seen her do it."

Sam was relentless. It had been a shitty day at his shitty new school, and he had an evening of bored teens and Blizzards—and no Mercy—ahead of him. "And why is that, Finn?"

"Because she's always—" Finn stopped himself. He didn't like where this was going.

"-out front, right? She's always out front, so she doesn't have to do it."

"So what if she is. I don't see how that matters—"

"It matters because she's part of the fucking team, that's why it matters. Everybody else was there—everybody else because they're team players, Finn."

"Rachel practices—"

Sam was shoving his work gear into his backpack. "Don't. Just don't, OK. Don't make comparisons about how hard Rachel works or how much she wants it or how talented she is, OK? Because none of that changes the fact that Mercedes works hard, that she's just as talented, that she wants it just as much. The difference is that Mercedes has always put this team ahead of herself, not because she doesn't have any dreams, but because her friends and the group have meant more."

"Dude, what the fuck? I thought we weren't comparing her to—"

"Look. All I know is that last year? Mercedes taught me most of the moves in our numbers. Schue kept pairing us up." Sam laughed at that realization. "She's a great dancer and she sure as hell didn't need Booty Camp. And if everyone else is there—even when they don't have to be—and Rachel isn't?"

There was an awkward silence. "I get it Sam." Finn sat down on the edge of his bed. Everything had gone so wrong at practice, and he hadn't been able to stop it. Mercedes had been complaining lately that she wasn't well, and today something just snapped in her and then it was like the floodgates opened and everyone—well, Mr. Schue, Santana, and Kurt, mostly—had just turned on her. It had all happened so fast, and all that he could think about was defending Rachel. "This is why there's no dating in football," he groaned.

"What? What are you talking about?" Sam grabbed his uniform shirt and the keys to the car, kissed his mom and sister goodbye, and headed out the door. He hated working the evening shift at the Dairy Queen, but it was all he could find at the moment, and it wouldn't do to be late on his second day. "Is Rachel trying out for quarterback now?"

_Huh?_, Finn thought, although he could imagine that Rachel would go out for the spot if she thought it would help her get to New York. He laughed at the image. "Nah, that's not it. Things are just really tense right now."

Sam started the car and then put Finn on speaker. "Sounds like it. What else is happening?"

Finn told him about the _West Side Story_ auditions and the callback, about Rachel and Kurt and NYADA, about his own confusion about the future. "It still feels like summer sometimes, you know, like just yesterday we weren't worried about anything but now everything is the most important thing ever."

Sam nodded as he pulled into the parking lot. "Yeah, I kinda know what you mean. But Finn—you've just spent the last ten minutes spinning me a sad story about you and Rachel and Kurt, and I feel for you, but don't you think Mercedes is having a tough time too?"

Finn was silent as he considered Sam's words. His head kept filling with reasons why Rachel was right and Mercedes was wrong, but he knew that those arguments weren't going to hold sway with Sam. And why should they? He, more than anyone else, could understand just why Sam was so firmly in Mercedes' corner. _As well he should be_, Finn thought. Mercedes was incredible—even Rachel had said so, on more than one occasion. "I'm sorry, Sam. I guess I couldn't keep my promise to you."

Sam swallowed hard. "It's cool. I shouldn't have asked you to in the first place. I knew where your loyalties were." He could feel the anger ebbing away. He'd been wound tight with it since Quinn had called him after practice, and it had taken everything he had not to jump in the car and drive to Lima to find Mercedes and soothe her hurt. She hadn't returned any of his calls, so he'd called Finn to take things out on him. Now he was just tired and sad and lonely for her arms. "I miss her, you know?"

Finn picked at a loose thread on his comforter. "I know. For what it's worth, I think a lot of what's going on with her is because she misses you, too."

Sam laughed. "That's where you're wrong, bro. I mean, yeah, she misses me, but this stuff with her and Schue and Rachel? It's been coming for a long time."

Finn found that couldn't argue with him. "So what should I do?"

"Nothing. It's over, right?" Sam shook his head as he punched his time card. "Look, I've gotta go. Sorry for blasting you like that. I haven't talked to Mercy today, and I lashed out at you. We're cool?"

"Yeah. We're cool. You still coming home for Thanksgiving?"

"Of course. Ms. Irene will never speak to me again if I break her baby's heart."

Finn chuckled. "Good. See you then." He flopped back in the bed, mulling over the conversation he'd just had. Yes, Sam said it wasn't his fault, but he couldn't help but think that he'd been complicit in the day's events. The team would definitely suffer without Mercedes; he wasn't so blind that he couldn't see that. He couldn't go back in time to change things, but he could try to make things right. Mr. Schue had let Santana back in, after all, and she'd orchestrated a fire in the courtyard. He just needed to wait for the right opportunity.

And if he managed to keep his promise to Sam? Well, that would just be the icing on the cake.

###

"It's not going to get any better for me in there, Sam." Mercedes was touching up her manicure and looking over the sheet music for the song she had to sing in the callback. "Mr. Schue let Santana back into New Directions without a second glance, but me? I don't think he'll ever want me back after what I did today, and even if he did, I don't think I can go back. I'm tired of singing backup and waiting for that note that even Berry can't hit. But do you know what was the worst?" She fell back against the pillows, hot tears finally rushing to her eyes. "Nobody, not even Quinn or Tina—nobody stood up for me. I was all alone up there." She tried to swallow the cry, but it wouldn't go down, and so she just sobbed as quietly as she could, her hands clutching Sam's pillow to her chest.

Meanwhile, in Kentucky, Sam wasn't doing much better. He'd gotten off his shift to find a text from Mercy to call him when he was off work. He'd waited until he was home and could change out of his sticky clothes before calling her back. It was eleven, and everyone in the house was asleep, so he'd gone out to the small white bench in the front yard. It was quiet outside, too, and Sam was glad that he'd put on a hoodie to ward off the chill.

If he'd thought it was tough to keep from driving to Lima earlier that day, it seemed impossible not to now. He brought his knees to his chest and hugged them tight, willing the feeling to travel through the phone to Mercedes. "I'm sorry, Mercy. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you, that I can't be there for you right now."

She sniffled. "I know, Sam. And it's OK—I don't think you could have done anything to change it." She wiped her eyes. Now that she'd admitted what really had hurt—and now that she knew someone who loved her had heard her—she could get some perspective. "This has been a long time coming, you know? Besides, I'm not after what Rachel and Kurt are right now—" she winced a bit, the sting of Kurt turning against her still fresh—"looking at Glee Club and school productions for resume fodder. I just want to sing, you know?"

"Yeah, baby. I know." And he did know. Before moving to Ohio, he'd never sung in public before, preferring to keep his music where his heart was—with his family, his dreams. His time at McKinley had opened so many doors for him, and discovering the thrill of sharing music with others who loved it as much as he did? Well, that was the best thing, the thing that had ultimately opened him up to this woman who he knew was the love of his life.

"Mercy? Hang on for a minute, OK?" He put the phone down, sprung up from the bench and opened the door to the house as quietly as possible. His guitar case was just inside the front door; he took out the instrument and returned to the bench. "I'm going to put you on speaker, OK? I've got something for you."

Mercedes snuggled into the nest of pillows on the bed, clutching the one that faintly smelled of Sam tightly as she gazed at their picture on the nightstand. She was so tired—tired of fighting, of crying, of keeping up her guard 24/7—and as Sam played the opening melody of "You've Got a Friend," she finally let herself relax. She hummed along with him as he sang and harmonized on the chorus, and by the end of the song, although she was worn out, she felt a new flame of strength welling inside her.

Sam picked up the phone and took it off speaker. "I know I'm no James Taylor," he started.

"I don't need you to be. You're better. You're Sam Evans, and Sam Evans is all that I need." Mercedes could swear she felt Sam's smile across the miles between them. "I love you, baby. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for being my friend."

"Always," he sighed, then yawned because it was late. "Excuse me," he said, and Mercedes laughed at the formality of it. "What? You know I've had good home training!"

She laughed some more. "Yes, you have, but clearly I haven't since I haven't asked you about your day, which was just as exhausting as mine." She sat back up in her bed, her body as attentive as if he were there with her. Here she was, throwing temper tantrums because she didn't get her way, and Sam was still working more than he should be to help his family make ends meet. "How was your day today? School any better? DQ still delicious?"

Sam shook his head. He'd been through a lot in the last year, but his worries felt trivial in the face of the loneliness he knew Mercedes was experiencing. He remembered how awful he'd felt in those early days at the motel, before he'd broken down and let his friends in. Still, it was good to have someone to talk to about it all. "It was OK. School's same shit, different shitty city. DQ is sticky and sweet—but not as sweet as you."

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Clearly you are exhausted because that was the lamest attempt at game I've heard yet!" He laughed with her and she pulled the pillow tighter, willing it to be Sam.

"I'm OK. Tired, but OK. The kids are getting settled in their new school, dad's job is going well, my mom's getting steady temp work—things are looking up. And what does the calendar say?"

Mercedes glanced at the wall, but she didn't need to. The number was always in the front of her thoughts. "72 days."

"OK. 71 nights, then. I think I can manage. You?"

"You always find a way to make it better, don't you?"

"Everything's better with white chocolate—isn't it?"

Mercedes giggled at the memory of that night. "Can't imagine my life without it."

A light came on in the house, a signal from his parents that he needed to come inside. It had been risky to play the song for Mercedes so late, but he was glad that he did, for himself as well as for her. "Gotta go, babe. I love you."

"One more night down," she replied. "I love you, too. Goodnight Sam."

"Night, Mercy."

###

Things did get better for Mercedes, but not quite the way she thought they would. Rachel got the part—well, technically Rachel and Mercedes had gotten it, but Mercedes wasn't interested in sharing what she knew she'd earned outright. With nowhere else to go—and no friends coming out of the woodwork to support her—she'd gone to the only person who she was fairly sure would give her a stage and a song. It was the best decision she'd ever made. Shelby was an amazing teacher because she actually taught her something useful—about music, about her voice, about performance. Sure, it had just been her and that awful—but useful—Sugar Motta at the start, but with time and an appeal to her vanity, she'd managed to get Santana and Brittany over to their group, and the Troubletones were, if she did say so herself, amazing.

Finn couldn't disagree. He sat next to Mr. Schue in the auditorium as the girl group rehearsed. Yes, Santana was phenomenal, and Brittany's moves were, as always, on fire, but it was Mercedes who had all of his attention—and center stage. The number was incredible, the costumes were amazing, the stage was perfect, but all of it was just a setting for her and her voice to shine. He looked over at Mr. Schue, who was as transfixed as he was. The Troubletones had been together, what, two weeks, and already they were running circles around New Directions.

"What should we do?" he asked Mr. Schue later as they sat in the choir room.

"I don't know." Mr. Schue looked panic stricken for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure. "It'll be alright. We just have to work harder and play to our strengths." He rose and went toward his office, patting Finn on the shoulder as he passed him. "Don't worry."

Finn didn't know what he expected him to say. A plan to get Mercedes and the others back? An apology? An admission that maybe he'd been going about things all wrong? He looked over to the closed office door, where he could see Mr. Schue seated at his desk looking lost in thought. Mercedes, Santana, and Brittany passed the choir room, and Finn realized he needed to start to make things right. He grabbed his knapsack and ran after them.

"Mercedes! Wait up."

The three girls stopped and turned and looked expectantly at him. What was he going to say?

"You guys were great. Really—really great."

Santana rolled her eyes. "We're not coming back."

Finn shook his head. "I know. I don't expect you to, not after—" he looked at Mercedes. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I didn't get it before, but I think I do now. You—" he looked at Santana and Brittany quickly before returning his gaze to Mercedes—"you're incredible. I should have been a better leader—and a better friend." Brittany smiled at him, Santana yawned, but Mercedes just stared into his eyes. It seemed, to Finn, that she was looking at him as though she'd never seen him before. For his part, he was seeing her anew, not as her team mate or as the boyfriend of her rival, but the way Sam might have hoped he'd see her when he asked Finn to look out for her.

Mercedes nodded and held out her hand. "Thanks for that, Finn."

His hand dwarfed hers, but he felt small as he shook her hand. "I'm not entirely off the hook, am I?"

She smiled. "Nope, you're not, but this is a good first step." She patted his shoulder as she and the other girls turned away. "See you at Sectionals!"

Finn watched her walk down the hall and out the door to the parking lot. His heart was pounding, his palms were sweating. He shook the strange feeling off, then hurried off to football practice, his thoughts turning back to Mercedes on the stage, Mercedes walking away, Mercedes at Rachel's party and that kiss he thought he'd never get.

Since he was late, Coach had him running laps for the majority of practice, but he didn't mind. He had a lot to think about, had to shake off whatever had come over him in that hallway. He was in love with Rachel, Sam was his friend, and Mercedes was Sam's and Sam's alone. _I'm just gonna look out for her, like Sam asked me to_ he thought, his calves and lungs burning from the run, and by the end of practice, he almost believed it.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own none of Glee, but I manage to find joy all the same.

* * *

><p>Chapter 8: Cause for Apprehension<p>

_In which Finn finds a friend, Sam searches for his dignity, and Mercedes loses her cool._

###

SHOP THIS AFTERNOON?

Mercedes cautiously glanced at the message she'd just received on her phone and shot Finn a quick reply.

Y why?

TELL U WHEN I GET THERE

"Something troubling you about tangents, Miss Jones?"

Mercedes slipped the phone under her thigh as she looked over to Ms. Jenkins and shook her head. The teacher nodded, muttering "I thought not" as she turned back to the board and continued her demonstration. Mercedes quickly fished out the phone, texted Finn her scheduled hours, and then tried to pay attention.

This friendship with Finn was new, but so far it was good, too. At first she was surprised that he wanted to spend time with her, and she was still trying to figure out if he was exploiting the small but growing seed of goodwill she had toward him to gain some sort of competitive advantage. Still, she reminded herself, everyone else was in the play but the two of them, and so it made a sort of sense, really, that they'd spend time together. They'd made a pact not to talk about New Directions or the Troubletones, and Mercedes anticipated that this would be a short-lived friendship, but since it was either Finn or Sugar—who she could only take in small doses, being sweet in an annoying yippy dog sort of way—she cautiously dipped her toes into this particular friendship pool.

The rest of the day passed without incident, although she was annoyed with Santana and Britt for being late to rehearsal. They'd mumbled something about "counseling Maria," and she'd shrugged it off as some musical-related drama, but it worried her all the same. Santana seemed to really enjoy the dynamic of the group—and the spotlight—but the absence of the New Directions family (even Rachel Berry) seemed to only further grow her ego. She'd talked to her mother about it, and Irene suggested that Santana might just be indulging in a feast after she'd been in a famine, which made sense. Sam had agreed, mostly, but knowing Santana, he knew to expect the unexpected, so he'd cautioned Mercedes to keep her eye on things all the same.

By the time Finn arrived at the boutique, Mercedes had just put up the "Closed" sign and was locking the door. Finn pouted as he pulled at the handle while Mercedes tapped her finger against her cheek as if trying to decide whether or not to let him in. When he dropped the pout, looked directly at her and said "Please?" she realized that maybe he really needed to talk, so she let him in.

"Thanks. I know you're really busy and all." He looked around the crowded dress shop. "Ms. Irene here?"

Mercedes shook her head. "Nope. She's humoring my dad by bowling on this local physician's league." She rolled her eyes at the confused expression on Finn's face. "Black people bowl, you know."

"Yeah, I know that." Finn shook his head. "It's just strange, you know, thinking about your mom in the shoes..." He conjured up an image of Ms. Irene, who always seemed dressed in flowy clothes, in a bowling alley, her perfectly manicured hands holding a bowling ball and hurling it down the lane.

Mercedes chuckled. She knew what Finn meant. "Come see." She led him to the work area in the back and pulled a matching pair of tangerine bowling shirts from a rack. On the front, he could see her parents' names embroidered, and the backs had the team's name—The Pin Doctors—over an image of a bowling pin with a stethoscope. Mercedes could barely hide her laughter. "Corny, right?"

He nodded and laughed with her. "Yeah. Still—it's cool, you know, that they do that kind of stuff together." He looked thoughtful. "I'm glad that my mom has Burt now, you know, to do stuff with."

Mercedes gave him a small smile and patted his arm. "Papa Burt and Mama Carole are the best, aren't they?"

Finn nodded, but Mercedes could see that he was now struggling to keep it together, so she put the shirts back on the rack and cleared a pile of scraps from the only other chair in the work area. "Sit down, OK? I'll get us a soda."

Finn sat on the chair, his hands splayed out over his knees. He concentrated on the worn denim, how soft it felt under the rough pads of his fingers. _Second skin_, he thought, and he wondered why he'd been feeling so uncomfortable in his own skin lately, why senior year just kept feeling wrong somehow.

Mercedes returned and handed him a soda can carefully wrapped with a paper towel to catch the condensation. She sat in the sewing chair opposite him, popped the top on her own can, and waited.

He opened his drink, took a sip, stared at his knees for a moment. "How much of yourself should you give up for someone? I mean, when you love them?"

Mercedes almost choked on the drink she'd just taken. This was a whole lot deeper than she'd expected. "Um, wow—" she stammered. "I don't know. I mean—what is this about?"

Her dad always told her that talking in abstractions got you lost in the abstractmosphere. He had a bad habit of making up words, but right now Mercedes felt she needed some anchors for this conversation.

Finn struggled with how much to tell her, realizing now that Mercedes might not be the best person to talk to about his problems with Rachel. But where could he go? He needed to talk to a girl, but the only other girl he could imagine discussing this with was his mom, who'd freak if she knew that he and Rachel had almost done it on the living room floor. He could talk to Kurt, but Kurt and Rachel were joined at the hip these days, so he seemed more hers than his right now. Quinn was definitely a no-go, and he wasn't really that close to Tina, and—

He just really wanted to talk to Mercedes about it.

"Don't be mad, OK? I know we made an agreement not to talk about _them_" he said, and Mercedes set her jaw and nodded, "but it's not really about _them_ so much as about _her_."

Mercedes sighed. "I thought so."

Finn was apologetic. "Look, if you don't want to talk about her, we can—"

Mercedes held up a hand to stop him. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't hate Rachel. I don't even dislike her. We're sort of like—" she thought for a moment, then continued "—frienemies, I guess? We're like two big fish too many for this little pond."

Finn snorted. "Two betta fish." He schooled his expression when he realized Mercedes was shooting death glares at him.

"We're not going to kill each other, Finn." She scrunched her nose in thought, then shook her head as she laughed. "OK—maybe we would have roughed each other up a little. But things are different now."

They each took a swig from their cans, then burped from the cold and fizzy drinks. They looked at each other, wondering whether to be embarrassed or not, and then just settled on amused as they burst into laughter.

"OK, OK," Mercedes said a moment later, wiping the tears from her eyes. "What's going on with you and Rachel? My parents won't be bowling all night, and I'd like to get home before they do."

Finn looked at the floor as he spoke. "Last night she came over to my house. I'd cooked her a special dinner"—he left out the part about the meat—"and we were going to"—he flashed her an uncomfortable look, then returned his gaze to the floor—"have sex for the first time."

Mercedes took a drink from her can, trying to mask the discomfort she was feeling.

"We didn't. She was only there because she thought she needed to lose her virginity to make her performance in the musical more realistic. I was mad, at first, but it got me thinking, you know, about what I am to her and what she is to me, about what's in it for the both of us."

They sat in silence as Finn's words sank in, Mercedes unsure about getting this close to Finn, Finn wondering why it had been so easy to say what he'd just said. After a few moments, though, Finn began to wonder if what he'd said had been more than Mercedes had wanted to hear.

"'Cedes?" he asked, eager to get her reaction and surprised at how nice this shortened version of her name sounded to his ears. "Say something?"

Mercedes shook her head, her eyes darting across the floor. "Not sure what to say," she began. "All that's going through my head right now is 'That's so Rachel!'" She gave him a small smile, then wheeled her chair over to where Finn sat. She put her can on the table beside him, then took his and placed it there as well. He looked confused, then scared, then just sad and lost as she took his hands in hers, her thumbs rubbing the skin on the back of his hands. "She loves you, Finn, you know that, right?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

"I know she has a funny way of showing it sometimes, and this" Mercedes shook her head, "this is, just—wow. If the two of you," she squeezed his hands tightly, "are going to make it, you're both going to have to find a way to deal with her ambition that doesn't make _you_ feel so small."

Finn looked at their clasped hand, his throat getting tighter, the tears feeling hot and thick as they overwhelmed his efforts to contain them. "I don't really bring a whole lot to the table, do I?"

"Finn!" Mercedes' voice was sharp, and she quickly moved her right hand to gently lift his chin, her thumb automatically brushing the tears from his cheek, her palm cupping his face as he cried a bit more freely now. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Finn, you know that's not true. You have so much to offer. You're great at rallying your team and inspiring them, you work hard to be a good leader. You don't always get things right, but you try and you care and you give your all to everything you do." She paused, reaching for the box of tissues on the table, and, taking one in her hand, she dabbed his cheeks dry. "You are a terrible dancer, though."

They both laughed, and she continued. "But when you sing I feel the music in your heart and that's better than any fancy footwork."

Finn sniffed and nodded, his lips set tight. "Thanks, 'Cedes. That means the world coming from you."

"I wouldn't have said it if it weren't true. I can't speak to what you should do about Rachel—that's for the two of you to figure out, and I have no doubt she's already realized that what she did was wrong—but can I share some Jones family wisdom with you?"

Finn nodded. "Sure," then "please." He grinned, eager to hear what she had to say, knowing that it would be just what he needed to hear. Mercedes never pulled punches where he was concerned. Maybe that's why he'd come to her.

"The only life that you can live is yours, and the only person who can live your life is you." She patted his cheek, then finished drinking her soda. She watched as Finn did the same, then took their cans to the recycling bin out back. When she returned, he was sitting in the same place, eyes trained on the rack with the bowling shirts, clearly lost in thought.

"You didn't understand a word of what I said, did you?" she teased.

He turned toward her, laughing even as he shook his head. "Not really, no."

She grabbed her purse and keys and motioned for him to follow her out the back door. "Don't worry. You'll get it eventually."

He waited for her to shut off the lights and lock the back door, walked her to her car, then surprised her by engulfing her in a big hug. "Thanks for listening and for making time for me, Cedes," he whispered, then, releasing her, turned to walk to his car.

Mercedes unlocked her car, got in the driver's seat, and started the engine. She acknowledged the wave Finn gave her as he got into his own vehicle, then sat in her car and watched him drive away.

Since when did he call her "Cedes?"

###

Sam stared at his first check from the DQ. Sure, he'd only been there a couple of weeks, but he wouldn't likely be getting more hours, and there was barely enough here to get Stacy and Stevie new shoes and coats for the upcoming winter months, much less purchase the same for him or pay for repairs on some of the household appliances, gas for his car and the lawnmower. His mom's temp work was steady, yes, but Sam was too aware of how quickly things could turn, and he really wanted to be able to help build a nest egg. Now that they were working their way out of the hole, he felt obligated to do whatever he could to build them back up so they'd never be down there again.

And then there was college. He and Mercedes had made a pact—"North, South, East, West; we'll take the school that likes us best." It had been a silly joke after they'd met with Miss Pillsbury before school started. She'd helped them identify colleges that would be interested in their artistic strengths while satisfying their parents' concerns about marketability. Mercedes talked a lot about being a music star—and Sam had no doubt she would be—but she was determined to learn everything she could about business as well. Sam loved music, but he loved drawing too, and he wanted a place where he could do both and indulge his love of stories. Just before he'd left Lima, Finn had delivered the packets Miss Pillsbury had prepared for him and Mercedes, and although they had a handful of schools to apply to, the applications wouldn't just pay for themselves. He was praying for some sort of scholarship—a long-shot, given his grades—or financial aid to help pay for it; his parents weren't going to be able to help him out there, much to their sorrow.

He needed more money, and he needed it fast. On his break, he scoured the Help Wanted section of the local paper, tossing it down in frustration when his break was ended. He took orders at the drive-thru window, made Blizzards, bagged burgers and fries, and frowned a lot.

Sam was still frowning the next day as he put on his jeans in the locker room after P.E. As he put his uniform—the school-approved shirt and shorts—in his bag, he could hear chatter from the next row over, a couple of guys talking about someone who'd graduated the year before.

"—making like $1000 a week just for a few hours work."

"Yeah, but is it worth it? I mean, I like the bitches as much as the next guy, but there's got to be an easier way to make money than being man whore to a bunch of middle-aged broads."

"Doing what? Dealing? Nah, man, nah. I'd strip for your mother before I'd do that."

"You? Strip? Better hit the gym before you take of that shirt. You might drown somebody in that pudding you call a stomach. As for my mom," Sam heard the slam of a locker door, "leave her the fuck out of it."

Sam thought about that exchange for the rest of the afternoon, and when he got off work that night, he drove a different route home, the route that passed Stallionz, a woman's club that serviced the tri-county area. The parking lot was full, SUVs and minivans bathed in the glow of the club's icy blue neon sign. He counted up the cars, estimating how much he might make in tips every night in a place like this, then shook his head. "Not for me," he muttered, then drove home.

Later that night, after having a strange conversation with Mercedes that revolved around, of all people, Finn and Rachel, Sam lay in bed thinking on his situation. He missed his life in Lima so bad, not his life BH (Before Homelessness) but the life he had after, where the only thing that mattered were the people most important in his life, his family and his girl. They were still the most important things—he didn't question that—but getting a house had meant getting the things you needed when you had a house, and planning for ways to see the person you'd been separated from in order to have the house, the person you were increasingly thinking of as home. Sam needed money, he needed it fast, and there was one way he was pretty sure he'd be able to get it—legally—without harming anyone or anything but his pride. _Small price to pay_, he thought, _if it means my family has something put aside for a rainy day_.

He went to the club on his lunch period the next day and spoke to the manager, who took one look at him, checked his driver's license to verify that he was, indeed, 18, insisted he audition right then, and hired him on the spot, asking Sam to stick around to watch the early afternoon shows and get a feel for how things were done. As Sam drove home, he wondered what he'd just done and tried to figure out who to tell—and what, if he told them anything, to say. He decided to keep up the DQ story; his mother and father wouldn't like what he was doing for all the reasons they shouldn't, his siblings certainly didn't need to endure the teasing they'd get if word got out about his new afterschool activity, and Mercedes—he gripped the steering wheel tighter. What would she think of him? No, better to keep it a secret from everyone, to get in, make as much money as he could as quickly as possible, and then get out before anyone got hurt.

A week later he was in his car headed toward Lima, OH. It was the opening weekend of the school musical, and while Mercedes wasn't in it, she was planning to go to support her friends, and he thought it might be good to be there to support her. He had to admit he was curious, too, about the football team, and since they had a home game and Finn had let slip that a big recruiter was going to be in attendance, he thought he could support his friend, too.

If he was truthful with himself, though, he'd admit that he wanted—no, needed—to do something normal again. His first week at the club had been a success; sure, his dance moves were awkward, and he got some ribbing from the other guys when he'd chosen White Chocolate for his stage name, but each night he'd performed three sets, serving drinks in between, and at the end of the first week, he'd made $500 dollars. The manager hadn't been happy to give him his first weekend off, but Sam had claimed a prior family commitment out of town, which seemed sufficient, especially since the regulars had been spreading the word about the new eye candy on display.

It was almost too much for Sam, this other world and other life, and while he was absolutely sure of his feelings for and his commitment to Mercy, he needed to see her before Thanksgiving, to anchor himself in their love so that he could continue on this path. So he'd called Finn to see if he could crash at his house and had casually asked about Mercedes' plans for the weekend without revealing his surprise.

His parents had been surprisingly understanding about his need to make the unexpected trip, his mother particularly keen to send him off to his "Lima family." He felt awful about lying to them, but his resolve to keep stripping was only strengthened when Stacy and Stevie came home with permission forms for a school field trip that had a $25 per head price tag. He was glad that he'd been able to provide the money without trouble, claiming an increase in hours as the DQ and a small raise because he was such a hard worker. It didn't help that his mom was already asking too many questions, especially when she noticed the traces of glitter on his t-shirts when she did the wash. He was going to have to do his own laundry from now on.

He reached over to crank up the volume on the cheap pair of portable speakers he'd bought to use with his iPod; the car radio worked, but was too old to connect the player, so he'd figured out a solution. Pulsing dance music filled the car—the playlist he used when he practiced his moves—and Sam quickly flicked over to the one he and Mercedes had put together before he'd left. Soon, Sam Cooke was crooning "That's the sound of the men working on the chain ga-a-ang," and Sam Evans was singing along, providing backup "ooohs" and "ahhs" as the car inched closer to home and the woman he loved.

###

It had been a shitty end to a crappy week. Santana had been more and more insufferable, her taunts and insults slamming everyone in her path. Mercedes knew that it was partially due to nerves about the musical opening night—although Santana would never admit to them—and partially related to whatever was going on between she and Brittany. Mercedes and Ms. Corcoran had spent the bulk of the week's rehearsal sessions navigating Sugar's ego in an attempt to tone down her tone-deafness, a task that had taken what little patience Mercedes had remaining. If that wasn't enough, though, Sam had spent their phone conversation the previous evening peppering her with questions about her plans for the weekend, making her more and more aware of how badly she was missing him. She couldn't look at the calendar, knowing that even though it was the end of October, there was still more time to wait than she was willing to give. And then there were the tests and the college apps and the endless homework assignments—

Mercedes couldn't wait to get home to her bedroom and a long soak in a hot tub, perhaps followed by a night's indulgence some sappy romantic movies. Or _Twilight_.

"Fuck!" she screamed, slamming her hand on the dash of her car. It was Friday, which meant football. She'd promised Finn she'd go to the game; everyone else was in the play, Burt and Carole were on the road campaigning, and he'd promised to go with her to see the show on Saturday if she'd come to his game that evening.

She looked at the clock on her dashboard. If she was quick about it, she could at least have her bath. The movie would have to wait for Saturday morning, a thought which gave her a brief pain as she remembered movies with Sam on her summer Saturdays.

When she got home, she got the water running for her bath, dropped in one of those fizzy bath balls (the wrapping said RELAX), put her hair up and her robe on, and started picking out an outfit to wear to the game. She decided on a jean skirt and was searching for a pair of tights when she heard the doorbell ring. Annoyed, she ignored it—who the hell was at her door on a Friday afternoon? If they didn't have a key, this wasn't where they needed to be. She continued to rummage through the basket of clean but unfolded laundry. The doorbell rang again.

"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" she yelled as she stomped down the stairs. "Ed McMahon is dead, so I know you're not here to tell me I won a sweepstakes so…" She pulled open the door.

"My mom tells me I'm a prize, so I guess that'll have to do."

Mercedes stood, slack-jawed, and took in Sam's smiling face, his green eyes dancing with delight at the sight of her. He opened his arms to her and she stepped into them, so overwhelmed that she started to sob.

Sam wasn't sure what to do. He'd expected her to be surprised, but this? He rubbed her back and patted her head. "Hey, babe, what's the matter?"

She sniffled and relaxed her grip so that she could pull away enough to look at his face. "Now that you're here? Absolutely nothing." She smiled through her tears and eagerly accepted the kiss he gave her.

They stood that way for what seemed an eternity, holding and kissing each other, enjoying the rush of being together again, until Sam's body reminded him that he hadn't stopped once on the four hour drive. "Can I come in?"

She laughed and rolled her eyes, then pulled him inside and closed the front door.

Sam looked at her and toward the stairs. "Were you about to take a bath?" He chuckled at the look on her face when she realized she'd left the water running and tore up the stairs to shut off the tap. He visited the small guest bathroom near the foyer and then bounded up the stairs to find her.

"Mercy?"

"I'm in here."

He headed into the bathroom and found her naked in the tub, water lapping at the curves of her breasts and belly, the room scented with lavender. His voice was gruff. "How long before your parents get home?"

"An hour? Maybe an hour and a half?"

He grinned as he stripped off his clothes. "No point wasting time, then." Naked, he knelt by the tub, one arm supporting him as he leaned over her and stroked her cheek before kissing her. "I've missed you," he groaned, his fingers dancing to palm her heavy breasts, to pinch and tweak her stiff nipples, before moving to stroke and caress her pussy. She moaned as he locked eyes with her, his fingers working quickly to bring her clit to attention.

"Sam—"

"Mercy?"

"Sam—"

"Yes, baby."

"I want to touch you."

He shook his head. "Plenty of time for that later. Just be beautiful for me. Let me make you feel good."

She nodded and closed her eyes, her body relaxing against the walls of the tub. Sam repositioned himself so that his supporting arm was now cradling her shoulders, while the other continued to stroke her, his fingers alternating between sliding inside of her and rubbing her swollen clit, the slick scented water adding to the eroticism of the moment. Kentucky seemed lifetimes away.

She whimpered as he slipped his fingers inside her, her hand guiding his thumb to her clit. "So close, baby," she grunted. Sam leaned in to kiss her softly before whispering "open your eyes for me?"

Mercedes almost didn't want to, knowing that the sensation might be more than she could bear, but she did it anyway. His face was all desire and love—_too much love_, she thought—and she felt her tears welling as every single bit of her body tensed, her back arched, and Sam's fingers pushed her to release everything she'd been holding inside since the day he'd left Lima.

He kept his fingers inside her, his thumb increasingly gentle as she shuddered on his hand. When she was still, she closed her eyes and he withdrew his hand as he kissed her forehead. "I love you so much," she croaked, the cry she'd been holding back finally breaking through as she spoke, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

After a moment he stood and took a towel from the rack, unfolding it and holding it out for her. The terry rubbed against his hard cock as she backed into the towel and his embrace. He dried her skin, kissing her as he went, his hands extra gentle as he dried between her legs. When he was finished, she pulled off her shower cap and kissed him hard, her hands reaching down to grab his cock, her fingers stroking and caressing him relentlessly.

He panted as he pulled away from her. "You just had a bath. And your parents—"

She grinned and glanced at the bathroom clock. "I'll be damned if I let you come _on_ me, Sam Evans. We've still got half an hour." Her hands slid along the smooth skin of his ass before smacking it. "I suggest you get over to my bed. Time to collect my prize."

_Yep_, Sam thought as he lay on her bed, his hands gripping her hips as she rode his cock, his mouth sucking at her nipples, _I'm home._


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I own none of Glee, but I manage to find joy all the same.

* * *

><p>Chapter 9: Relax. Relieve the Tension<p>

_In which nothing and everything happens. _

###

Sam and Mercedes made it to the football stadium just in time for kickoff. They'd managed to quickly dress and make their way downstairs, put a Stouffer's lasagna in the oven, and make a salad before her parents had returned from work, and Quentin and Irene had been equal parts surprised, grateful, and suspicious to find Sam slicing cucumbers in their kitchen. They'd caught up over dinner, Quentin regaling Sam with tales of their bowling exploits while Irene regarded the couple with subtle and cool interest. At 6:45 Mercedes' phone alarm went off, and the pair said hasty goodbyes as Irene promised to arrange for someone to cover Mercedes' shift in the dress shop the next morning. On their way to the stadium, Mercedes quickly texted Finn a good luck message, then, realizing that he'd likely not see it until the game was over, sent another telling him they'd meet up with him outside the locker room after the game.

The stadium crowd was a bit lighter than usual; several of the second string team members were in the play, so their families and friends had somewhere else to be that night, as did the families and friends of the Cheerios who'd been cast. Sam and Mercedes sat toward the bottom of the stands and cheered. After the Titans made their first touchdown, Mercedes and Sam screamed "Finn!", catching the quarterback's attention and earning themselves the sight of Finn's helmeted head searching the crowd, his confused wave, and then, when he started walking over to the sidelines while still trying to locate them in the stands, his stumbling walk into an unsuspecting water boy. Mercedes shook with laughter, and Finn had no trouble following the sound of her laugh; his heart felt full and warm when he saw his friends, and he was so glad they were there. He hadn't told Rachel much about this game—him getting a scholarship to play at Ohio State wouldn't really fit with her NYADA plans, after all—but he'd been bummed all the same that the play conflicted with the game. When he'd mentioned the recruiter to her, Mercedes had offered to wait until Saturday to see the show so that she could be there to cheer him on.

She was a good friend, _better_, he thought sometimes, _than he deserved_.

When the game was over—and handily won—Mercedes and Sam strolled hand in hand through the empty halls of the school as they waited for Finn to finish talking with the recruiter. When they were around the corner from the locker room, Sam pulled Mercedes into a recessed area. Her back against the wall, she looked up at him in the half-lit corridor, her big brown eyes playfully meeting his green ones.

Sam grinned as he stroked her cheek. "So glad I finally get to do this."

Mercedes smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Do what, exactly? Finn's not going to be _that_ long."

Sam planted his left hand on the wall above her head and leaned into her as he ran his right hand down her arm. His voice in her ear was a hoarse whisper. "Every day I walk around that school in Kentucky, and all I can see are all the places where I should be holding you, kissing you, making you late for class or rehearsal because it's our senior year, and we're in love." He pressed himself against her, his right hand now gripping the soft flesh of her hip, his pelvis grinding against her and his breath now hot against the shell of her ear. "Is it too much to ask that I get to make out with my girl in the hall?"

He took her hands grasping his ass to pull him closer, her head leaning so as to give him greater access to the nape of her neck as indication that no, it wasn't too much, not too much at all. Their moans were soft in the empty hall, mostly lost in the echoing din of the last team members leaving the locker rooms.

Eyes closed, Mercedes smiled as Sam kissed his way to her mouth, her lips slightly parted in anticipation. She felt him pull away from a kiss to her chin, then waited for him to go in for the kill.

Nothing. Her eyes flew open to see Sam staring at her, his eyes soft and intense. She smiled again. "What?"

"I love you." His voice cracked, but he continued. "I love you and not a day goes by that I'm not working to find a way to get back here, to you, to us." As he spoke, he pressed the palm of her hand to his heart.

Mercedes swallowed hard and bit at her bottom lip. He was working so hard to hold it together, and she wished that they were somewhere else, not waiting for Finn, so that they could get lost in each other. They were waiting for Finn, though, and so she made some balance, taking his free hand in hers and pressing it to her heart. "We're always together, you and me. One day—"

A loud crash followed by a pained scream interrupted their conversation. Mercedes followed Sam as he ran to the locker room, where they found Finn curled up on the floor next to an overturned bench. Sam quickly looked him over, then turned to Mercedes. "Find Coach Beiste. I think he's hurt his hand."

Numb, Mercedes sought out the football coach, checking her office and the weight room before finding her in the equipment room. "Coach?"

Shannon looked up from her clipboard, annoyed at the interruption in her post-game check of the facilities; Cooter was taking her out for a late dinner, and she didn't want to keep him waiting. She softened at the look of panic on Mercedes' face. "Mercedes? What's the matter?"

"It's Finn. I think he hurt himself. He's in the locker room."

Shannon rushed past Mercedes and through the door. Mercedes followed, so glad that Coach Beiste was still there and eager to see how her friend was doing. When they arrived at the locker room, they found Finn and Sam seated on the bench, Sam rubbing Finn's back while Finn held an icepack to his left hand. Sam rose to join Mercedes as Coach Beiste checked out Finn's hand. He hugged her tight to his chest and kissed the top of her head.

"He's going to be OK. Thanks for getting help."

Mercedes looked up at Sam, confusion and concern in her eyes. "What happened?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know, but I think it has something to do with that recruiter. He kept mumbling about 'not being good enough' and having no future." He followed Mercedes eyes back toward the pair on the bench. Coach Beiste was patting Finn on the back and speaking soft words of encouragement as he gingerly moved his fingers. Finn was staring at the ground, his face expressionless, which to Sam was an improvement from the pain and rage they'd walked in on but for Mercedes was an indicator that whatever had hurt Finn had hurt deep. She took her arms from Sam's waist, holding his hand while she started walking back toward the bench.

Coach Beiste continued patting Finn on the back while she spoke to Sam and Mercedes. "His hand's going to be OK, but I don't think he should drive himself home just yet." She looked up at the couple. "He played a great game, but he's had a rough night all the same."

She didn't have to say anything more. Mercedes knew that Finn's hopes for the night had been dashed, and she squeezed Sam's hand as she nodded and said, "we'll make sure he gets home safe, Coach."

Sam squeezed her hand back. This wasn't how he imagined spending his first night with Mercedes in months, but it was clear that Finn needed some TLC. He grabbed Finn's gym bag and started packing it up while Coach Beiste instructed Mercedes on clean and bandage the cuts on Finn's hand before returning to her office to get an accident report. He watched their interaction, loving how gentle Mercedes was with Finn who seemed now to be struggling mightily against a fresh round of tears and frustrations. He wondered where Rachel was, then remembered the play being performed at the opposite end of the school. "Finn?" he asked, "do you want me to text Rachel? Let her know what's going on?"

Finn looked up, his face blank and confused. He shook his head "no" and then, looking back down at Mercedes putting the final bandage on his wounds said "No. It's her big night. I don't want to ruin it."

Mercedes looked up at Finn, and Sam could tell that she was about to give him a piece of her mind before Finn shook his head and stopped her. "It's OK, 'Cedes. I think I just need some time alone tonight." Finn looked over to Sam. "Do you mind taking me home? I don't want to ruin your night, but Coach Beiste is right—I really don't feel like I can drive myself there, and my mom and dad are out of town, so—"

"No problem, dude." Sam held up the duffel bag. "I've got your stuff ready right here. Let's just get you home."

Coach Beiste walked with them to the exit door, her hand on Finn's shoulder and her voice low as she negotiated an appointment with him on Monday to discuss "his future plans." Mercedes and Sam walked behind them, Sam's left arm holding Mercedes close to his side while he carried Finn's bag in his right.

"Too bad we can't pick back up where we left off," Sam whispered. He nodded toward a darkish nook in the hallway and grinned, then yelped from the pinch Mercedes had given him. "Not the right time?"

She rolled her eyes. "What do you think? Besides," she said, her voice low and teasing, "tomorrow's Saturday, remember?"

Sam grinned. Saturday mornings were his favorite.

###

It was 10:30 when they got to Finn's house, and Sam and Mercedes were on edge, Sam because he was hungry and exhausted from the emotion of the evening, Mercedes because she was worried about what Sam might be thinking. She knew that he and Finn had smoothed over their Quinncident, but she wasn't naïve enough to think that her friendship with Finn wouldn't cause some small bit of consternation and concern._ Not that he has anything to worry about,_ she thought. _Finn's just my friend._

They parked the car in front of the house, and Mercedes carried in Sam's guitar while he gathered his and Finn's duffel bags from the trunk. Finn had quietly gone into the house ahead of them, and they found him sitting silent at the bar in the kitchen, his hands splayed on the counter, his eyes staring at the bandages stretched across his skin.

Mercedes looked over at Sam who shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Finn was not OK, and she wasn't sure what to do, so she asked. "Finn? What do you need?"

He blinked, then looked over to them, his face registering first confusion and then recognition. "Thanks for taking care of me."

Mercedes propped Sam's guitar case against the wall and then walked over to the counter. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tightly. "Whatever you need, Finn, you tell us, OK?"

He nodded, and then swiveled so that he could hug her as well. "Thanks, 'Cedes. And Sam," he looked over at his friend, motioning for him to join their hug, "thank you. You came to visit 'Cedes, not babysit me." He pulled Sam into an embrace, the three of them briefly negotiating arm placement until Mercedes was nestled between the two friends.

They stayed that way for a while, Finn holding onto Sam and Mercedes as he tried to understand why he felt like all of the air had gone out of him tonight. Then his stomach rumbled.

Mercedes and Sam laughed as they slowly broke from the embrace. "I think you're hungry," Mercedes said. "How about I make something for you while you and Sam put away your stuff?"

Sam kissed her forehead and walked over to the bags. Finn followed suit, murmuring a soft "thank you" into her hair before grabbing his gym bag and following Sam up the stairs to his room.

"You'll get the guest room," Finn said, pointing to the room down the hall from his own. Sam started down the hall, but Finn's hand on his arm stopped him. "I'm sorry, man. I hope I haven't ruined your night with 'Cedes. You guys don't have to hang out with me, you know?"

Sam smiled at him and shook his head. "Stop apologizing. It's cool, OK? I know how shitty it is to have the wind knocked out of you, and so does Mercy. Besides," he looked a bit sheepish, his skin coloring a bit from a gentle blush at what he was about to say, "she and I are more Saturday morning sort of folks."

There was an awkward silence in the hall for a moment that was broken only by Finn's soft "oh" as he realized exactly what Sam was saying. Finn let go of Sam's arm, his face now as red as Sam's as he reached toward his bedroom door. "I'll meet you guys downstairs in a minute? I'm going to get a quick shower."

Sam nodded and headed down the hall to his room. It was small but nicely appointed, with a comfortable queen-sized bed, dresser, mirror, and matching bedside table. A wing-back chair completed the room's furnishings, and Sam couldn't remember when he'd had a room this nice all to himself. For a moment he thought of having Mercedes meet him here in the morning, but quickly decided that wouldn't exactly be the best move for a houseguest. He put his bag on the bed, the contrast between the red of the duffel and the rich brown of the bedding leading him to imagine Mercedes on a bed of rose petals, Mercedes naked and rolling around in rose petals, Mercedes cooing as he did his best to make her flower with his tongue. He let out a small groan and adjusted himself; this wasn't the right time.

He could hear Finn's shower through the door to the bathroom the two rooms shared, and he decided to wait until later to unpack his bags. Why waste time doing that when he could be helping his girl out in the kitchen downstairs?

###

Finn found them dancing in the kitchen. Well, dancing might be an exaggeration; Mercedes was valiantly trying to ladle soup into bowls and plate sandwiches while Sam stood behind her, hands on her hips as he swayed to the song she was softly humming. Finn stood on the stairs and watched them, envying how easy they were around him, loving how easy he felt with them. He felt sad and a little hollow, but just being in the presence of Sam and Mercedes made him feel a little more hopeful than before.

His cellphone buzzed, drawing all of their attention. Finn looked at the screen. It was a text from Rachel.

_Where are you? Is everything OK?_

He smiled over to Sam and Mercedes and got a glass of water before taking a seat at the counter; he watched Sam continue to "help" his girl while he responded to Rachel's message.

_Things are fine. We won the game but I lost the tournament. I'll tell you about it tomorrow, OK? How was the show?_

Sam joined him at the counter, passing him a spoon and napkin. Mercedes brought over bowls of tomato soup and a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches. It all smelled like sunshine and comfort, and Finn was now ravenous. He grinned at Mercedes, grabbed a sandwich as he started in on the bowl of soup before him, moaning with satisfaction as he shoveled the food into his mouth, oblivious to the barely contained mirth on Sam's and Mercedes' faces as they watched him eat.

Finn's phone buzzed with another message.

_It was amazing! We got a standing ovation and Blaine and I got two curtain calls. This is bliss!_

He smiled a bit, then responded.

_That's great, babe. Can't wait to hear all about it and see you in the show tomorrow night. _

They finished up their meal and Finn and Sam quietly cleaned dishes while Mercedes hummed softly as she worked around the kitchen, wiping down the counter and returning items to the pantry and refrigerator. Finn was struck by the peacefulness of it all; he realized that he was tired and that he hadn't been filled with quite as much despair as he'd felt when he punched the locker early that evening.

"It's 11:30," Mercedes said softly. "I've got to get home soon, Sam."

"Sing to me," Finn asked abruptly, and Sam and Mercedes looked at him with confusion. "I'm really tired, and I know you guys have done so much for me tonight but can you just sing to me for a minute before I go to bed?"

Mercedes looked at Sam. "You did bring your guitar—"

Sam grinned. "Fifteen minutes. Then I've got to get you home." He turned to look at Finn. "Lead the way."

Finn raced upstairs, simultaneously eager for this moment and embarrassed that he'd asked for it. He quickly kicked the pile of dirty clothes under his bed and climbed in under the covers, hoping to mask the fact that the bed was so horribly disheveled before they arrived.

Mercedes and Sam weren't too far behind. Finn patted the bed next to him, motioning for Mercedes to sit there while Sam went to get his guitar from the guest room. Sam came in through the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe as he watched his girl comforting their friend.

"What do you want us to sing?" Mercedes asked as Sam started strumming chords.

"It doesn't matter, said Finn. "I just want to go to sleep knowing my friends were here for me."

Sam's strumming gave way to recognizable melody, and Mercedes smiled as she joined him in a slow version of "St. Judy's Comet." Sam had taught it to her over the summer, the song being one of his favorites from childhood. They would sing it to Stevie and Stacy on nights when she'd help him babysit, and their voices joined this night to share it with Finn. Mercedes held his uninjured hand gently, and Sam sauntered over to sit at the foot of the bed behind her.

Finn struggled against sleep as they moved to the next song, Mercedes' voice quiet but soaring through a tender rendition of "God Bless the Child" that had Sam holding back his own tears as he accompanied her. Right before he drifted off to sleep, Finn thought "so beautiful" as he saw Sam quickly wipe his face and Mercedes reach back to stroke Sam's arm.

###

Rachel's tongue licked and lapped at his cock as her hands gently caressed his balls. Finn groaned from the contact, then hissed and gripped the sides of the chair as she gently blew cool air across the tip before taking the length of him into her mouth. He stroked her hair with his right hand, passing his thumb across her full soft cheek. She looked up with him, her big brown eyes warm, her small hands gently stroking him as her full lips kissed the head of his cock before taking him into her mouth again.

"Mercedes," Finn groaned, not exactly sure when the woman in his dream had shifted, but not caring. It took every ounce of focus to stop her so that he could pull her up to kiss her as he walked her over to the bed, her short stature a delicious challenge. He must have looked ridiculous, his long frame bent to accommodate kissing her, but he didn't care. She could lead him around Lima by his dick if she wanted.

She lay on the bed, all softness and love. All he could do was kneel before her, his hands slowly moving up the smooth skin of her legs, fingers tracing the spiderweb of light marks on her thighs and hips and belly before he lay between her legs and kissed her pussy, his tongue gently teasing her lips apart as she moaned and writhed beneath him. He moved his hands to open her further, fingers stroking and teasing her as he kissed her clit.

He felt Sam before he saw him, his weight on the bed shifting Mercedes' body ever so slightly away from him. Finn looked up to see a naked Sam kissing Mercedes' mouth. He lapped at her, slipping a finger inside her and grinning as he heard her moan into Sam's kiss.

"You OK, baby?" he heard Sam whisper. Mercedes must have nodded her assent, and Finn realized that what _he_ was doing had rendered her speechless. He doubled his efforts, sucking at her clit and sliding another finger into her tight pussy. He had to hear her screaming his name, both of their names.

Finn gasped as he felt Sam behind him, his calloused fingers gripping Finn's hips as he kissed and nibbled at the nape of his neck. Finn groaned at the feeling of Sam's hard cock pressing against his lower back, and he instinctively pushed back against Sam even as he suckled at Mercedes' clit and reached his hand upward to pluck at a taut nipple.

Sam began to kiss his way down Finn's back, and as he reached his hip, Finn began to wonder if Mercedes was going to be the only one crying out. As Sam's tongue snaked around his hip and across his belly, Finn sucked hard on Mercedes, who was writhing and whimpering under his mouth and hands as she built to her climax. She cried out his name, softly at first, and then with increasing urgency as he felt her clamping down on his fingers, her thighs desperate to close against the intense feeling surging through her. He managed to keep her legs open with his forearms as he pushed her to finish, a feat, really, considering that Sam had managed to move their bodies so that they were both on their sides, Sam's face right at Finn's crotch.

He had to make Mercedes come before Sam touched him. He didn't think he'd be able to take care of her if Sam got to him first. "Please, baby," he whispered into her, his thumb replacing his tongue at the swollen nub of flesh. "Let me have it?"

She groaned her assent, her hand reaching down to grip and stroke his hair while she muttered his name and Sam's name, her body pulsing around his fingers as she sang her love and pleasure.

Finn groaned, too, as Sam sucked at his dick, his hand on Finn's hip pulling him closer and pushing him away until Finn, utterly lost now to what he was feeling, began to move his hips of his own accord, gently fucking Sam's mouth as his fingers stroked at Mercedes' thighs while she came down from her high.

And then he was sitting with his back to her front, the two of them resting against the headboard, her small soft hands pinching his nipples as she kissed and sucked at his neck while Sam, beautiful Sam, sucked and licked and stroked his dick until he could feel the tightening of his balls that signaled his end. He tensed, desperate to hold on to the pleasure, until Mercedes whispered "Now, love" in his ear, until he locked eyes with Sam and then he was lost, singing their names over and over as he came.

"Finn? You OK?"

The sheets were cold and damp. Finn was panting, his eyes slowly adjusting to the contrast between the dark room and the soft bathroom light illuminating a figure in the doorway. He gulped and quickly drew the comforter over his crotch, hoping that Sam couldn't see what Finn could feel.

"Yeah, I'm OK. Why?"

"You were calling my name—and Mercy's. I thought maybe you were having a bad dream."

_No, not bad_, Finn thought, _unless by "bad" you mean really good_. He nodded his head. "Yeah. It was nothing, just—just a bad dream."

Sam seemed to accept his explanation, and after asking whether he needed anything, left Finn alone to his thoughts. Finn stared at the ceiling, not sure whether he should try to hold onto the dream and its details or let it drift away.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I own none of Glee, but I manage to find joy all the same.

* * *

><p>Chapter 10: What May Yet Be Proved<p>

_In which Sam is affected by his past, Mercedes suffers the effects of the present, and Finn is determined to effectively affect his future. _

###

Sam lay on the stiff motel mattress, his arm tight around Mercedes' bare shoulder as his chin rubbed against the smooth satin of the scarf she'd thrown over her hair before drifting off to sleep. He stared at the ceiling. He focused on the patterns in the blown plaster, rings repeated from one corner of the small room to the other. He knew those rings well. They'd been his sky for the months they were in this motel. When it came to Lima, they were as much part of "home" as anything.

He sighed and pulled Mercedes closer. Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea after all. He'd just been desperate for some alone time with her-time away from her family, from Finn, their friends-and this was the quickest way to get it.

###

Mercedes had texted him around 6 Saturday morning. _Change in plans. My parents are staying home this morning. They want to "talk"._

He hadn't seen the message until about 6:45; Finn had had a nightmare, which really wouldn't have affected Sam, except he'd called out for him and Mercedes, something that had nagged at Sam throughout the night. If nothing else, Sam trusted Mercedes, and something told him that he could trust Finn as well. Besides-Finn had called out for the both of them, as though they were in danger or were the ones who could help him. Eventually Sam had convinced himself that it was the latter, that Finn was so wound up about losing his shot at Ohio State that in his nightmare he was grabbing hold of the nearest bit of comfort that he'd had. Unfortunately, it was about 2 a.m. when he came to that realization, so the alarm he'd set for 6:30 came much sooner than he would have liked.

The talk with her parents was another matter. When he arrived at Mercy's house at 7:30, the table was set for a serious breakfast: bacon, sausage, eggs, grits, fruit, biscuits, juice and coffee. Sam was ravenous, but suspicious, wondering if he was being fattened up only to be led to slaughter. Nothing could be closer-and further-from the truth. They'd eaten together, sitting around the table like family, with Quentin and Irene at the head and Sam and Mercedes seated opposite each other on the sides. Quentin had led them in a blessing, then food was passed around, and the mood in the room shifted quickly to something like ease. Sam shared some play by play of the previous night's football game with Quentin, and Mercedes filled Irene in on Finn's outburst. Sam began to think that this was the talk her parents wanted to have, and as he took the final bite of a heavenly buttered biscuit, placed his napkin next to his plate, and pushed back from the table, he looked over at his girl with a wide cocky grin.

The look she shot him back was like a bucket of ice water. It said "_Why are you smiling? This isn't even close to over._"

"Sam, will you help me with the dishes? I think Mercedes and her father are going to take a walk." Irene stood and started clearing away plates, deliberately not noticing the frantic and panicked glances Sam was sending her daughter's way. They worked silently, Sam carefully rinsing the plates in the sink while Irene loaded them into the dishwasher. Once it was loaded and the leftovers were in the fridge, Irene pored herself a fresh cup of coffee and motioned for Sam to join her as she sat at the table. She watched, dispassionate, as Sam poured his own cup, scalding his milk with the hot coffee before adding one cube of sugar.

As soon as he took his seat she started talking, her calm and measured tone piercing the silence in the room.

"Quentin is, no doubt, rambling on to Mercedes right now about being in the flower of her youth and waiting for her Prince Charming and a whole lot of pie-in-the-sky and unicorns. I love that about him; he appears to be all pragmatism on the surface, but underneath, he's a big dreamer." She took a sip of her coffee, then placed the mug on the table. "Now you, you look like a dreamer from the outside, but you've always struck me as being down to earth underneath it all, which is why you're having this talk with me instead of him. OK?"

Sam looked her in the eyes as he held the coffee mug close to his tightly closed lips. He nodded quickly, then took a sip of the hot drink, hoping it would give him a bit of courage.

Irene sat back in her chair, her hands cradling the mug of coffee, her perfectly manicured nails slightly taptaptapping at its sides. "As you are no doubt aware, Mercedes got a birth control implant about a year and a half ago." She looked at Sam, who turned beet red as he nodded and took a swig of his coffee. "You've dated Quinn, so you know why I insisted that she get one when she did."

Sam nodded again, and opened his mouth to say something, anything, that would stop what he could only see as a trainwreck of a conversation waiting to happen, when Irene held out her hand to silence him. "What happens between you and Mercy stays between you and Mercy until it's something that can no longer stay just between you and Mercy. She knows this-and now you do, too-and I want you to know that I see you, Sam Evans."

Sam dropped his eyes from Irene's, desperate to keep himself together in the face of the bomb she must be about to drop on him.

"When I look at you, I see a young man who works very hard to support himself and his family," at this Sam stared into his coffee mug, desperate to keep back the tears that were welling up out of relief and gratitude at the words Irene was saying. "I see a young man who couldn't wait two more weeks to see my daughter when I'm sure he has many easier options available in his new home four hours away. I see a young man who listens and wants to learn about what it's like to be Mercedes Jones in a world that doesn't usually want to know anything about the Mercedes Joneses of the world, and I see a young man who might one day want me to call him son."

Sam's heart was pounding and the tears were coming fast and hard and hot from his eyes. He bit at his lip to keep from opening his mouth. He couldn't look at Irene anymore, his eyes fixed on the contrast between the white mug, the brightly colored plaid placemat, and the honey-brown wood of the kitchen table.

Irene gripped his right hand in her left, then placed her right hand under his chin, lifting it so that she could see his eyes. She smiled sternly at him, then reached behind her to take a box of tissues from the buffet.

"You don't have to make any promises to me today about my daughter. Actions speak louder than words, and the day that I see you stop acting in a manner befitting someone who loves my child will be the last day I see you. I've got one rule for anyone loving my children," Irene pushed back her chair and stood, mug in hand, eyes firmly fixed on Sam's, "be grown or be gone." She walked over to the counter and refilled her mug, then returned with the pot to freshen Sam's cup. She sat back at the table. "Now, why don't you tell me what's up with your parents and your siblings."

###

Mercedes had returned from the walk with her father-who had bid Sam a hasty goodbye before finally heading in to the clinic-desperate to get away from the house. She'd run upstairs, grabbed her purse, and practically dragged Sam outside to his car. As they'd driven out of her subdivision, she kept starting sentences she couldn't finish, sputtering about the conversation she'd just had with her dad.

"Why did he think he needed to-"

"What the hell does he take me for-"

"You know, I have half a mind to-"

"I mean, I know he loves me, but-"

"Damnit, Sam, can we just go somewhere and get naked?"

This last was actually the first complete thought that had exited her mouth, and, eager to comply with his lady's wishes-and still mulling over the conversation he'd had with her mom-Sam wasted no time driving to the one place where he knew they could be guaranteed to be alone and naked for at least a few hours. He was 18 now, so there was no problem getting the room, and he made sure they gave him one facing away from the highway. They'd barely given the room a second glance, clothes falling away from their bodies quickly as they fell into each other. And now, in the moments afterward, when the room was still and quiet save for Mercedes' gentle breathing and the quiet hum of the window unit, Sam could only stare at the ceiling and think about it all.

Ms. Irene saw him, really saw him. Could she see exactly what lengths he would go to help his family? Sam felt his face and chest go flush at the thought of his work, of what discovering it would do to Mercedes' and her parents' opinion of him. He needed to tell her the truth; that was the grown up thing to do, wasn't it?

He looked around the room, his eyes taking in the worn carpet and curtains, the shabby furnishings of the sort of place he'd called home for half his time in Lima. What if this was it for them, the best he'd ever be able to give his girl? He had to do better, had to make sure that his future-and their future-was as secure as it could be. That meant college which meant money and if stripping was going to help provide that, then he'd do it.

"Mmmm. I love Saturdays." Mercedes was starting to wake up, the arm she'd draped across his torso slowly drifting upward till her fingers stroked his cheek. "Yep. You're really here." Sam could feel her smile, then see it as she raised herself to meet his lips with her own. At the look on his face, though, she paused. "What's wrong?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About what?"

"This room. How long I lived in a room like this. How I never want to do that again." He stroked the smooth skin of her back. "How I'm sorry that we had to come here, you know, instead of a nicer place." He smiled apologetically at her.

Mercedes sat up, the sheet and bedspread falling away from her body as she shifted to face him. "You have nothing to apologize for, Sam. This room, this place-it's part of your history, our history." She leaned down to kiss him gently, then snuggled into his side, resting her head on his chest, and traced patterns on his belly as she continued speaking. "I babysat with you and sang Stacy and Stevie to sleep in a room like this. You put on that bolo tie and your dad's suit in a room like this the night you took me to the prom. A room like this"-she started kissing his skin, her fingers flittering along his sides as she made her way south-"was where you kissed me for the first time, remember?"

Sam groaned and nodded. Mercedes had reached his navel, her tongue swirling over his skin, her fingers now gently stroking his thighs.

"I've always wondered what it would have been like to do whatever I liked to you in a room like this." She moved her hand to his balls, gently massaging them as she took his cock in her other hand. She kissed the tip and looked up at him, smiling as he opened his eyes to look into hers. "Thanks to you, I've finally got my chance. Let's make some new memories for rooms like this."

She winked at him and then took him in her mouth.

_They're like stars_, Sam thought as his eyes focused for just a moment on the ceiling patterns before everything went hazy in the pleasure of Mercedes' love. Maybe this room wasn't so bad after all.

###

Mercedes flipped through the program in her lap. She quickly read the cast list, not quite letting herself really connect with what the piece of paper and the arrangement of letters on that piece of paper meant to her life.

"Maybe I should have left these in the car." Finn was fidgeting in the seat to her left; he had a big bouquet of flowers for Rachel on his lap, the cellophane crinkling as he tried to balance the program on its uneven surface. He stretched his long legs out into the aisle, causing the flowers to begin a slow and treacherous slide toward the ground. Mercedes bit her lip as she tried not to laugh at him.

Sam leaned toward Finn, nudging Mercedes arm with his elbow. "Dude, just put them on the floor under your seat. They're wrapped in plastic; they'll be OK." He sat back in his chair as Finn, seeing the sense in the suggestion, made a few final crinkly noises as he carefully slid the bouquet beneath his seat and settled back to read the program. Sam took Mercedes' hand in his and leaned his head toward hers. He whispered, Finn's proximity making him cautious. "You sure you're OK here, babe?"

Mercedes silently considered his question. He'd asked her this on the way to the school auditorium-and earlier as they lay in bed at the motel-and she hadn't really been able to give him an answer beyond "I have to be, don't I? I made a choice." She wished that he'd just stop asking, but knew that he was asking out of love and concern. She was honest. "I'm not sure, but I'll be OK." She squeezed his hand, tears pricking her eyes as he raised her hand to his lips to kiss it.

"I love you," he whispered as the lights went down in the auditorium. It was show time.

Mercedes was thankful that she hadn't watched the musical before the auditions or since. She'd seen it a couple of summers ago with her mother, and everyone had read _Romeo and Juliet_ freshman year, so the story wasn't new, but its narrative and musical nuances still felt a bit fresh. She, Sam, and Finn quietly cheered for Kurt in his small role, marveled at Mike's vocal performance, and laughed at Rory's attempted Puerto Rican accent. She stored those little moments up against tougher ones, like Rachel and Blaine's performance of "Somewhere," a song she wasn't sure she'd be able to sing again, not anytime soon. By that time, Sam had slipped his arm around her shoulder, cursing a little under his breath that the "old school armrests were keeping him from his woman." Grateful for the gesture, she closed her eyes and listened to the voices of her two friends and tried to let them drown out the hurt and sacrifice they represented for both her and Kurt.

She hadn't really given herself a chance to dwell on her decision to turn down the double-casting; between school and work and Troubletones rehearsal-not to mention Sam and, increasingly, Finn taking up some of her alone time-she'd managed to block this out for two months, but sitting in the darkened auditorium, the show and all of its color and song and spectacle before her, she couldn't help but imagine what might have been, how her skirts would have twirled, what her Maria would have looked liked, sounded like, felt like.

Her cheek was cold and damp. Sam was gently stroking her arm, his cheek resting atop her head as he whispered "it's OK, Mercy. It's OK." She realized that she was quietly crying. She sat up slightly, moving her head from Sam's now tear-stained shirt to wipe at her eyes. To her left she noticed a hand offering her a handkerchief. Finn. She took it and closed her eyes as she turned slightly to smile at him in thanks. She didn't think she could look either of them, or anyone for that matter, in the eyes right now. _Good thing it ends so badly_, she thought. _No one will wonder why I'm crying_.

She dried her eyes and watched the final moments of the performance, schooling her expression to one of pride and delight at the accomplishments of her friends. She, Sam, and Finn stood and cheered with the crowd at the curtain call. She grimaced at Sam's piercing whistles. _Things that boy could do with his mouth_, she thought. _Instrument of great good and great evil_.

They waited eagerly for the cast's appearance at the backstage door, and she hugged everyone tightly, murmuring words of encouragement and praise to everyone-even Rachel. No matter what her hurts were, the show was amazing, and she knew how hard they'd all worked to pull it off. She wasn't about to take away one ounce of their shine.

Later, as she and Sam sat on her parents' couch, his hands gently rubbing her feet as they rested in his lap, she thought about the question he'd been asking her all day. Yes, she'd been hurt by all of it, but she couldn't say she was sorry; she had a place she could call her own now, after all, and while things weren't entirely repaired between her and her friends still in New Directions, she knew in her heart that this rift wasn't permanent, that somehow they'd find a way to bridge the gap caused by being in competition. She and Finn were proof of that, weren't they, friends who found each other in spite of it.

"I'm OK, babe."

Sam looked puzzled at her words. She chuckled to herself, loving how adorably he wore confusion. She swung her feet off his lap and shifted to snuggle next to him on the couch. They had about an hour remaining before Sam had to return to Finn's house, and since she and Sam were scheduled for brunch with their friends before he left to return to Kentucky, this was pretty much the last time they'd have mostly alone, and all she really wanted was to rest and recharge in Sam's strong arms.

###

Shannon Beiste stared incredulously at the matching bandages on Finn's hands. "What gives, Hudson? Were you punching things all weekend?"

Finn glanced at his hands, momentarily confused, then shook his head in response to his coach's question, shuffling nervously against the hall outside of Emma Pillsbury's office. "No, Coach, I cut it helping Sam with his car yesterday." A couple of lights on the dash had come on as Sam was preparing to leave, so Finn insisted that they use the equipment in the shop to check it out before he got on the road. They'd had a good chat about stuff-mostly Mercedes, as a matter of fact, with a little bit of sports on the side-and he'd gotten distracted when Sam had mentioned that they'd spent most of Saturday at the motel. Finn's hand had slipped on the wrench and scraped against the underside of the car as his mind filled with images from his dreams of the three of them naked in his bed.

But Coach didn't need to know that.

"Oh, you're here already." Emma Pillsbury quickly unlocked her office door and invited them in. She pulled Finn's file from the cabinet, then sat at her desk. "How can I help you?"

Finn took a deep breath. Whatever Coach Beiste had in mind, bringing the school counselor into Friday's events was sure to get him into some kind of trouble. At least she wasn't making him talk to Figgins. "I'm not getting a football scholarship," Finn began. "I was really upset when I found out, and I took it out on-"

Shannon placed a gentle, but firm, hand on Finn's arm to stop him. "Let me go first," she said quickly, and Finn quickly fell in line. "I want to see if we can help Finn find a way to play ball in college-maybe not at a big school, but one of the smaller ones? I have friends coaching all over the country, some of them doing great work in tiny places. Won't put him in contention for the NFL, but might help him pay for part of his schooling."

Finn was in shock. He looked at Shannon. "But I thought-Coach Cooter said..."

Shannon shook her head at Finn. "He gave you that plateau speech, didn't he?" Finn nodded, so she continued. "From his perspective, yeah, you have, but that doesn't mean you can't still play the game." She shifted in her seat to face Finn. "I don't know what you plan to do with your life when you graduate, Finn, but I think between me and Emma here we can find a place where you can pursue those dreams while playing a game you're darn good at and love." She turned toward Emma and leaning forward in her chair, pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. "I sent his tape around to some of my buddies this weekend," she said, her hands unfolding and smoothing the rough piece of paper before handing it to Emma. "Maybe you two can have a look at the schools on that list, see if any of them might be good fits."

Emma peered at the list on her desk, and Finn watched her expression as she read the names of the colleges and contacts. The last time they'd met, she'd told him he'd probably have to go to community college, and he wasn't holding out much hope for anything else. After all, his grades were average, his test scores-the ones he'd hastily registered for and taken in the last couple of months-were mediocre, and he didn't really have any other talents to exploit or set him apart. He stared at the carpet, then at the bandages on his hands, steeling himself against the letdown that was-

"I think we might be able to do something here," Emma said, her voice bright. Finn's head snapped up in amazement. "Don't get too excited," she said. "You're going to have to get out some applications really quickly, and you'll have to write an amazing admissions essay, but Coach Beiste has got a great point. If one of her contacts likes what they see of your football performance, with financial aid you might be able to start college in the fall."

The bell rang signaling the start of homeroom period. Emma placed the contact list in Finn's folder. "Come back during your study period today, and I'll have some information about these schools ready for you."

Finn felt more than heard what was happening around him. He sensed the shift to his right as Coach Beiste rose from her chair and prepared to leave the room. He felt the sun of Miss Pillsbury's smile as her fingers flew across her computer keyboard. All he could hear were Miss Pillsbury's words in his ears. "You might be able to start college in the fall."

"Hudson? You OK? You're gonna be late for class. Let's go."

Finn blinked and quickly rose. "Yeah, Coach. Sorry. Just-" He turned to face her and pulled her into a big hug. "Thanks."

Shannon hugged him back and nodded over his shoulder at Emma. "It's my job, Hudson, but you're welcome."

###

By the time he got home that night, Finn had a raging headache. Dinner didn't help; the appearance of Sue's new campaign ad during the 6 o'clock news made it a somber affair, and Burt had spent most of the meal on the phone with Will planning responses. Finn and Kurt had volunteered to do dishes so that Carole could help Burt, and they'd sped through the kitchen clean-up, eager to get to their respective rooms and away from the tension. Finn grabbed a couple of ibuprofen before he left the kitchen. His hands were still hurting a bit, and since he'd had a headache before the ad had aired, he definitely needed something to soothe the pain.

Once in his room, he undressed and took a shower. The steam and the hot water soothed him, and the walls and the sound of the water muffled the yelling coming upstairs from Burt's study. Everything felt like shit right now. The day had started off well. Why had everything gone wrong?

It began at glee club. Mr. Schue and Ms. Corcoran had gotten official word that New Directions and the Troubletones would be going head to head at Sectionals and thought it would be a good idea to have a mash-off between the teams. They'd called it "healthy competition," but Finn had a bad feeling it would be anything but. When they returned to the choir room, the realization of what it meant to compete against the Troubletones at Sectionals set off a renewed chorus of lamentations over the loss of Mercedes, Santana, and Brittany punctuated by snarky remarks about how they'd come crawling back to New Directions once they'd been beaten. Finn wasn't entirely sure who'd said what, but he was pretty sure that Rachel was speaking and hadn't been lamenting the loss of anything. Once Mr. Schue had gotten their attention and reminded them of this week's assignment, they'd half-heartedly started coming up with ideas until it was time to head home.

Then the real fun began.

He'd walked Rachel to her locker, half-listening as she went on about how ridiculous everyone was to be worried about their chances against the Troubletones. He thought about correcting her, about sharing what he'd seen of their rehearsal with Mr. Schue, but he decided to travel the path of least resistance and say nothing. He listened as she gathered her things and then kissed her goodbye before heading off to football practice.

As he passed Ms. Corcoran's classroom, he heard Santana's voice. "I love you, Britts, and I know that we all made nice during _West Side Story_, but that's over now and Berry is going down."

There was a sigh, then Mercedes' voice. "Santana, we're better than that. It's not about Rachel, it's about the team. Focus on the music."

He couldn't see it, but he could imagine Santana rolling her eyes at Mercedes' words. "'Retha, I'm officially ending your playtime privileges with Findoleeza Rice. Of course it's about Rachel. She's why you bounced, isn't she?"

Finn was still. _I shouldn't be here, _he thought. _'Cedes will kill me if she finds out I've been eavesdropping_. Of course, there was nothing to listen to now; the room was silent save the sound of someone shoving items into a bag. He wanted to know what she was thinking and feeling about it; they never talked about glee club stuff at all, and Finn knew it hurt her. It had to, because the loss of Mercedes-of all of them-hurt him everyday he walked into the choir room and she wasn't there.

A voice. "You're wrong, Santana. I know it looked like it from the outside, but it was never about Rachel, and you, of all people, should know what I mean."

Finn heard a chair move across the floor and footsteps. Shit. They were coming. He started walking down the hall, wishing it were earlier in the day so there'd be more than four other students in the hallway. In the end it hadn't mattered; they'd gone the opposite direction, which meant they, not him, were headed toward the parking lots-and the locker rooms and football practice. By the time he realized what he'd done, he was really late for practice, and late meant wind sprints and a tongue lashing from Coach Beiste.

Finn shut off the shower tap. Placing his palms against the shower wall to brace himself, he stretched his body, watching as drops of water fell from his wet hair to the bathtub floor.

After he'd dried off and dressed, he half-heartedly attempted to do a history assignment before giving up entirely. He grabbed his phone. Two missed calls. He returned Rachel's call first; they had a brief discussion of mash-up ideas that would highlight her talents, but he found his knowledge of Barbra Streisand and Katy Perry songs wasn't really up to the task of achieving her vision. They said their goodnights and I love yous, and he hung up.

Mercedes was next. She hadn't said what she wanted to talk about, just that he needed to call her before Sam called at 11. He smiled when she answered.

"Hey, Finn."

"Hey, 'Cedes." He sat on the bed, adjusting the pillows against the headboard and leaning back into them. "Crazy day, yeah?"

She was silent for a moment, then, in a very quiet voice. "Yeah, really crazy. I'm sorry, Finn."

He sat up straighter in the bed. "What for, 'Cedes? You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I think-" she halted, and Finn felt a prickling rush of heat as he waited for what she was going to say. "I think we need to stop hanging out for a while." She was silent, then added "Just until after Sectionals."


End file.
